


Battlefield

by aionwatha



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Rating will go up, i still spell kurapica's name with a c, temporary title until i find something i like better, will post when i can - no fixed schedule, you know me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aionwatha/pseuds/aionwatha
Summary: Kuroro/Kurapica(slash). A few years ago, Kurapica left his village, planning to see the world. Unbeknownst to him, the world was ending. Now he's back home, but the Kuruta are gone, the world is overrun with the undead and now his village is destroyed. The search for his people will send him on a collision course with one group who call themselves the Spiders.





	1. Welcome to the Apocalypse + Ashes to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> **betas:** _[Lea Summers](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5364661/) is my lovely beta, and my very good friends Oliver, Jo and Gold all helped a lot in the plotting of this story._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _temporary title taken from the song["meet me on the battlefield" by svrcina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZrddJPGp1I), which i listened to on repeat while writing this, along with ["i'm not afraid" by wondra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=telUyrGEZ5A). both are excellent songs so i recommend you click those links! if anyone has a suggestion for a better title, just let me know bc i'm not sure about this one._
> 
> _now, i don't have a fixed schedule for this. i'm still working on my novel, my life is even more insane than it was at the end of dav and basically... yeah, i'll be sporadic at best. new chapters will come out... whenever they come out. i've been planning this fic for over a year, but i've only just started writing it. at least i have a good idea of what is going to happen throughout so now that i'm done with preparation, i can just, you know, write it._
> 
> _i know i used to answer each and every comment i received with personal notes and all, but seeing how my life is... what it is, i don't think i can both write this and answer each and every comment. i do read each and every one of them, however, so be assured that if you write something, it will make me smile and help me through some very tough time. know that i love all of my readers, and that means you, who is reading this line right now._

* * *

 

**Prologue**   
**Welcome to the Apocalypse**

 _“This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.”_  
_\- T.S. Eliot_

The world didn’t end suddenly.

The world ended after a long, drawn-out malady, which affected all of its populations. It wasn’t anything anyone had planned for, despite a few thousand years of dire warnings from all sorts by prophets, madmen and scientists of many different faiths, countries, and specializations. The Zoroastrians were the first recorded religious group to preach doom and destruction. “The end of the world is nigh”, they had cried, long before the birth of the man who would be known as prophet and messiah. Others had soon picked up the cry.

Louder and louder they wailed, preachers and learned men, until the world as a whole turned their back, shook their heads, called them crazy. When one hears something too many times, one builds a resistance to the message, whatever it contains. Whether it be lies or truths, fabrications or facts, people stop listening, stop paying attention. And yet, they had predicted it all: the storms, the earthquakes, the plague….

The Plague.

It had started innocuously enough, considering the ramifications that would later result from simple, normal human activity. The spread of the disease had started first from the glaciers, scientists had determined, when there had still been scientists around to look into such things. Global warming, they had said. An old bacteria, dormant for two and a half million years, had been unleashed as the glaciers receded over the poles. It wasn’t dangerous to humans, only affected plants: grasses and weeds and ferns. But from there it adapted. From grasses to herbivores, from herbivores to carnivores, from both to omnivores. It started like a flu, something no one actually paid attention to. Runny nose, stuffy head, the usual spiel.

Then the sufferers slowly, very slowly went insane, or at least, that’s what they called it at first. Eyes bulged, teeth mashed, fingers went crooked and stiff, and then, it was as if they were possessed, attacking, groaning, tearing, eating. A few people at first. The symptoms so benign that no one cared to look into it. People travelled, went about their business, infected others, unknowingly, with a shake of a hand or a kiss. In the early days, it had taken months for the infection to really show, and then, suddenly, people in every corner of the world started showing signs. Skipped epidemic, went right into pandemic.

And now, ten years later, here he was. One lone man, surviving the wilderness that had become humanity’s battleground for survival. One man on a mission, to find a forgotten people wiped from the face of the earth amidst the chaos at the end of the world. And, as Kurapica watched the village before him burn away to nothingness, he swore his most sacred oath that he would find his people and bring them home.

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter 1**   
**Ashes to Ashes**

 

A man could drive himself crazy, were he to ponder the possible outcomes of taking a different path than the one he had chosen, and Kurapica was no exception. The loss of his hometown to a fire had been difficult for him, but it had also chased him from his only shelter and the few ressources he’d managed to scrounge up. When push had come to shove, Kurapica had had to sacrifice his home to save his life. It had been a hard blow, but if he ever encountered any of his clansmen, he knew they would say that his life was more important than the small cluster of thatched-roofed round houses.

Only now, Kurapica was homeless again, and in this harsh, unforgiving world, this presented some rather pressing concerns. This wasn’t the world he’d grown up in, one where he could just live off the woodlands and sleep comfortably on a bed of moss. This was a world in which even silence was dangerous. He would have a lot more trouble sleeping at night without the ability to bar doors and windows.

Still, he couldn’t really change this latest deviation into his life plans, and it was better to roll with the punches than to try and hold his ground. He shouldered his bag, which was frightfully empty, considering the fact that he would have to survive for days, possibly weeks or months, before he found supplies.

He took one last look at the still smouldering remains of the house he’d been hiding in for the past few months, then he turned away and resolutely walked into the woods. He once may have let his thoughts wander as he walked through the underbrush, but this wasn’t a safe world anymore, and he couldn’t afford the luxury. He listened carefully, advancing as quietly as he could, his eyes flicking this way and that. This was a new reality the survivors of the Plague simply had to deal with.

Safety was the far-off memory of a dream dissipating to nothingness.

He walked for much of the day, needing to put as much distance between his former village and himself as he could. He was fairly sure that the burn-man who’d found him had now finally been reduced to ashes, but the light and noise might have drawn others.

As the sun dipped lower, he had no choice but to try and find shelter for the night. Under the trees, shadows lengthened and deepened. Already, visibility was poor despite the fact that the entire circle of the sun was a few degrees above the horizon. He didn’t have much time, not if he wanted to find a place he could defend or escape if need be.

He finally found refuge up in the boughs of an old oak, using a length of rope to climb to his bed for the night. He didn’t have anything to soften the wood and bark with, but it was to his advantage not to sleep too deeply anyway, and perhaps the rough surface he had to lay on would keep him alert.

The loud snuffling of an animal woke him in the dark of night. Kurapica couldn’t see it and didn’t dare turn on his electric torch to see what it was, but its gait was heavy; he could hear the sound of its feet as they hit the ground, low and ponderous. It circled his tree a few times, sniffing at the trunk or the ground, its breath loud in the still silence of the forest. Kurapica held still, his palms moist with sweat as adrenaline coursed through his body. He barely dared to breathe as the thunderous steps circled and circled. His nerves were close to breaking and his right hand had clutched the torch, when finally, the animal, whatever it was, ambled away.

It took him a long time to calm down enough to close his eyes. Not that it made much of a difference; the woods at night were impenetrable, a deeper black than one would believe possible unless they saw it for themselves. It took him longer still to fall into a fitful sleep.

He was jolted out of it by the high-pitched cry of a small animal, followed by deep growls. Something was hunting, an animal of some kind, although whether it was dead or alive was anyone’s guess. In this new, terrifying world, all that moved was not entirely alive. There was the rustling of leaves and ferns in the undergrowth, cries of pain or panic, and growls and groans of the hungry. It all unfolded somewhere to his right, and Kurapica held his breath, listening to the death cries of a small animal he couldn’t name. And once things were quiet again, he had to listen to the crunch of small bones and tearing of flesh. Whatever it had been, it had died very close to his tree. Kurapica was not a coward, but the sound was horrendous, and he shivered despite himself, then held still as the animal stopped eating to sniff at the air.

Once it too had gone, it took the Kuruta even longer to let himself slip into slumber again.

The sky was lighter when he was next conscious of movement near him. It was faint at first, and he frowned at the small pieces of sky he could see through the leaves above him. He strained to hear, aware that something had woken him, but unsure of what it had been. Then he heard it, still some distance away, something walking through the brush. It was slow, making no attempt to conceal its presence. He gave up on sleep altogether and slowly, carefully sat up on his uncomfortable branch. He had been careful to be especially quiet, but whatever animal it was stopped, as if it had heard or sensed his presence. Kurapica slowly pulled one leg up, balancing his foot on the branch, then did the same with his other foot, so that he was crouched on the tree limb, ready to climb higher up, or jump down to run.

There was a moment of absolute silence. Kurapica held his breath, and pushed his torch back into his bag, then slung the strap across his chest. Everything was still, too still. It was predawn, still too dark to see much under the canopy of the forest, but with the sky a deep blue that was growing steadily lighter. Morning birds should have been singing, crickets should have been trilling, small animals should have been venturing out of their dens to graze the ferns or gather seeds and fruit from the trees, but all there was, was absolute, dead silence. The pale blond hairs on his arms rose as he pushed down a wave of panic.

The dead had come to pay a visit.

Slowly, carefully, Kurapica unsheathed one of his daggers, leaving the other so his left hand would be free, should he need to make a quick getaway. Seeing how contact with the undead could possibly infect someone, the best strategy was always to avoid them rather than fight. They were slow. Amblers, most probably. The rustles and soft snaps of breaking twigs gradually got closer as Kurapica took in a few shallow breaths. Closer and closer they creeped, and the Kuruta entertained the idea that perhaps they may walk under his tree without noticing him. No one quite knew how they found the living, if it was simply by sight and sound, or if smell played a part, or perhaps even heat signatures like snakes could register. All anyone knew, was that once they found a quarry, they rarely let it go.

Suddenly, something large and ungainly crashed through the underbrush somewhere ahead of him, closer than Kurapica liked. Thankfully, it was headed away from him. Perhaps the beast from the night before, spooked by the amblers heading their way. Whatever it was, Kurapica soon heard the amblers groan and stumble after the sound. He could just about glimpse the vaguely humanoid figures in the dark shadows of the trees. He held his breath again, watching them pass by, a mere stone throw away from where he was crouched in his oak tree.

They didn’t seem to notice him, and went on without ever turning in his direction. Still, Kurapica waited. The silence was heavy now, filled with unnatural horrors. To calm himself, the Kuruta started counting the soft but rapid beats of his heart. Slowly, the sun rose in the east, casting gradual light that finally started piercing the lush canopy above. Somewhere, a hopeful insect trilled, shy and hesitant. It tried again. And again. Somewhere to his left, another answered.

This seemed to give courage to other forest creatures, as slowly, gradually, the air filled with the sounds of insects and birds, and small mammals started scurrying about the trees. Kurapica sheathed his dagger and sat down, sighing in relief. He took a deep gulp of air, then slowly released it, eyes closed, head tilted up to the brightening sky. A moment later, his stomach started protesting his neglect, and he went through his pack to find the small packet of oatmeal cookies and the box of fruit bars he’d managed to grab before his house had burned to the ground. He ate slowly, ears trained on every small sound around him.

The early days of the plague had passed him by, sheltered as he had been in his small village. The world had come to an end, and they had never known. The first few weeks he’d been away from home, he had been so carefree; just a child, really, out on a mad adventure, the type of which he used to read about. His first encounter with the hungry hordes had nearly ended in disaster. He’d learned to be hypervigilant, and it used to be so exhausting, at first, but now it came as second nature. He could barely remember how it felt to be unaware of his surroundings, how it was to feel safe.

He finished his food and carefully put away the wrappers, then scurried down the tree. Once on the ground, he slowly pivoted on himself, his head cocked, ears strained. Birds chirped in the trees, crickets added to the music, all normal, natural sounds. He rolled his shoulders and set off.

He walked most of that day, stopping only for quick meals, eating just enough to keep himself on his feet. He spent another uncomfortable night in a tree, where he slept fitfully, awoken by every sound, from the hooting of owls to the feral growls of beasts of prey. That second morning, as he sat up on a high branch, watching the sun rise slowly above the horizon he could just about glimpse through the trees, he started planning.

Up until now, he had not done much in terms of being proactive. He’d reacted. First he’d reacted to the Plague, to this strange world in which he’d found himself. He’d tried to explore, to learn, but everywhere, whatever culture and social structure might have once stood, all of it had gone to rubble as more and more people had succumbed to the illness. So he’d tried going home, and everywhere, everything had been so twisted, so wrong, it had taken him far longer than it should have to get back to Lukso. And once there, he’d found everyone gone, the huts abandoned, no note, no indication of what had happened to his people. So he’d waited. Waited and waited for them to come home.

They never had.

Now the village was gone, and for the first time, Kurapica had to face the fact that perhaps his people never would come home. That standing around for them to do so would never accomplish anything. He had to stop reacting to things, had to start acting instead.

He didn’t know where the Kuruta had gone or why, but rather than simply amble away, going nowhere, his only goal mere survival, he was going to aim for one thing: finding his people or, barring that, learning what had happened to them. He’d entertained a million scenarios through the months he’d been camped in the remains of his old village, each more terrible than the last.

Sometimes, on rare, precious occasions, he’d envisioned them leaving for somewhere safe, somewhere the Plague could never reach them, but any such illusion was soon shaken by his undying belief that his parents would never had turned their backs on their only child like that. His mother would have raised hell, what with her fiery temper and outspoken nature. She would have been taken by force, or she would have remained home for her son to come home.With her martial arts being of the highest caliber, no one in the village would have managed to make her budge. Whatever had happened, she’d not resisted, or had encountered something stronger than her.

He’d stopped using his Scarlet Eyes once he’d been in the village for some time. Whatever traces of his clansmen had long disappeared, and searching for signs of their presence had been an exercise in futility, so he’d soon given it up. Now, though, he triggered the change, looking around himself with a strange mix of dread and hope.

Nothing.

With a sigh, he checked his bag to see how much was left of his dwindling supplies, then he zipped it shut, slung the strap across in narrow chest and carefully climbed down from his tree. He knew that there was a village closeby, where he could try to break into a shop or two, but they wouldn’t have much, either. And their infected might still be ambling down every small street, lay in wait behind every door, sit by any window. Given how he was either going to risk it or starve, he had little choice. Many of the plants were still infected, and it could be risky to try to eat berries and nuts as he might have once done.

He hadn’t known that at first, of course, and counted himself lucky that he hadn’t eaten anything that carried the bacteria responsible for the pandemic. The thought that any of the food he’d taken could have made him one of the hungry dead sent a chill down his spine every single time, so he tried to avoid letting his musings get that far.

He set off in the direction of the small settlement which had been the closest thing to neighbours the Kuruta had had and strode resolutely until he reached the edge of the woods. There, he paused, his head tilted to listen at first. He was surrounded by the normal sounds of the natural world, and pivoting slowly on himself brought no apparent sign of the undead to his vision.

He wiped his hands on his pants, his eyes darting back to the comforting gloom of the underbrush. What had felt a bit worrisome before was now comforting, safe. He turned resolutely away. Ahead of him, under the harsh glare of the sun, there was a field of untilled earth slowly succumbing to grass and wildflowers. It felt so barren and exposed, but Kurapica told himself that this could work to his advantage. The undead might spot him, but he could also spot them, and run back to the safety that the woods presented.

He squared his shoulders, loosened his daggers in their sheaths, steeled his resolve, and strode forward. He was going fast, without actually jogging, hyperaware of his surroundings. Some birds flew from the ground with irritated squawks a few metres to his right, while a fox slung away, back towards the treeline, a little further away. A few insects buzzed lazily in the grasses around him. He could see the small cluster of houses ahead, but though he squinted against the morning sun, he couldn’t discern any movement in them. It meant nothing, however. The dead could stay immobile when not triggered to follow a quarry. If they caught sight, or scent, or heat of the living, they would all start moving immediately, something in their brains compelling them to follow after the potential meal.

The term dead and undead were misleading, Kurapica decided as he caught movement to his right that turned out to be just a rabbit hopping away. No one he spoke to actually knew if the people who had succumbed to the plague had actually died. Perhaps their hearts still beat inside of their chests. No one would be willing to risk infection to check.

Why was it so far? He glanced back. He was perhaps halfway to the village, and had only left the woods a few minutes ago, but it felt like an eternity.

He faced forward and hastened his steps. Keeping most of his attention on his surroundings, he started mentally listing what he would need to find in the village. Food, of course, and medical supplies. Bandages, both for bleeding wounds and the fabric type for sprains. Painkillers. Caffeine tablets, if he could find some. Rubbing alcohol or small medical wipes. Would the village have a pharmacy? He couldn’t recall from his last time there; he hadn’t known about the plague then, and it hadn’t touched the small community.

It had been a few years, and if his people had gone, he couldn’t quite sustain the hope that the small human settlement had escaped unscathed. And, as he approached the closest building, his suspicions were confirmed. The place was derelict, the garden abandoned, and the back door hung open, only held semi-upright by one hinge.

Kurapica slowed down, peering cautiously around, before approaching the gaping doorway. He listened carefully, but heard nothing, so he cautiously stepped in. He had to stand just inside of the door for a minute, ears straining for signs of un-life as his vision slowly adjusted to the gloom. The stench inside was nearly unbearable. All he could hear was the squeak of the hinge as a soft breeze pushed at the door, the drip of water from a faucet hitting a sink or bath, and the otherwise oppressive silence of the village.

His eyes finally adjusted enough that he could see that he was in a kitchen, a meal abandoned and rotting away on a table, chairs tumbled on their sides, the fridge door hanging open. He’d gotten used to these spectacles in his years of wandering a crumbling world, but they still gave him a shiver.

He gave the table a wide berth and went to the cupboards so he could rifle through them for food. He couldn’t avoid the horrible smell coming from the refrigerator, however, and had to pull his T-shirt over his mouth and nose. Most of the cupboards contained dishes and cookware, and he only glanced briefly through each. Finally, he went to what he had first thought was a broom closet. Inside, he found shelves with various food items. He quickly grabbed cans of soup, vegetables, even some fish. He didn’t take too many, as these items would be heavy to carry, but figured two of each would keep him fed for a few days. He also found a packet of crackers and shoved it into his duffle.

He could look through the bathroom for medical supplies, but he didn’t want to trap himself in a small room where there would usually only be a tiny window, if there was one at all. He would try to find a pharmacy or general store instead. He paused by the door, letting his eyes get accustomed to the light again.

He crept around the house, still watchful, and finally caught sight of some of the villagers. Two of them, hopefully amblers, were standing above what was left of a third. Their skin was grey, their eyes vacant and they shifted listlessly, stiff, crooked fingers twitching from otherwise limp hands. The woman had a patch of skull showing where her scalp had been pulled away from the bone.

Kurapica felt a shudder of revulsion and carefully backed away, watching them for any sign that he’d been spotted. He went to the back of the house he’d gotten the food from, then walked around the small cluster of houses, glancing in between them whenever he reached a corner, trying to spot a shop.

He circled around the small hamlet and was nearly on the other side from where he’d started when he spotted the sign advertising a general store. It would have to do. By this time, Kurapica’s focus was a little frayed from constant wariness, and he was already exhausted. He wanted to go far from any settlement, where he may be a little safer. He wanted to sleep for an entire week.

But first, he needed to find some things for his survival. He had to have something to treat wounds with before he was actually injured. Knowing there was a store here with what he needed would be meaningless when he was out in the wilderness, running a fever from a cut that had gotten infected. He just had to make it inside first, and he didn’t know how many of the undead were around.

He crept carefully down the main street, where he had a fair view of his surroundings, but kept close to the houses so as to not be in plain view himself. Each time he neared the edge of a building, his heart beat a frantic rhythm against his ribs and he carefully looked around the house, so as to not be surprised by something coming out from between the structures. As it was, it was very slow going for him. It was still early spring, but despite the cool air, he felt sweat bead on his temples and upper lip.

A few doors down from the shop, a loud noise in an alleyway made him stop in his tracks, stricken with fear. There was the yowling of cats fighting for scraps of food or territory, which relieved him a bit, but he still took a deep breath and ran the rest of the way to the general store. If noise roused some of the undead, then they would likely converge onto that alley.

He opened the door a little too forcefully, and winced as bells attached above it rang with a tinny sound. He reached up reflexively to grab them and quiet them down, then closed the door more carefully, before taking stocks of his surroundings. Inside the small, cramped shop, everything was deathly quiet. He took a tentative step forward and heard muffled sounds from outside. Pivoting slowly, careful not to give his position away through sudden movement, he glanced out in time to see three amblers stumble down the paved street towards the alleyway he’d left behind.

His heart was beating erratically, thumping inside of his chest as he watched the former-humans trip over themselves in slow motion. They looked more like rabid animals than anything, lips pulled back over grinding teeth, eyes covered with a white film but still looking wild and hungry. He shuddered again.

Inching away from the windows, he went deeper into the shop. It was dark, the lights being off, with just the windows, which were covered in a dark film, to let in dimmed light from outside. The aisles were narrow, barely large enough for him, even with his slight frame. The shelves were packed to bursting with products of all sorts, all covered with a thin layer of dust. He ignored most of it, going straight for the aisles marked pharmacy.

He opened up his duffle and put in a few bottles of fever and headache medicine, some antacids and antiemetics in case he ate something bad, and some bandages and disinfectants. He turned his attention to the counter at the back. Some shelves had toppled over, but they still seemed to be full of medications. Kurapica wandered closer, wondering if he could find some antibiotics. He didn’t know the name of any of them, save perhaps penicillin and cipro-something-or-other, but most towns had had multiple bands of survivors go through them, and Kurapica doubted he’d ever have another chance like this.

He jumped on the counter and heard a groan or growl, and instantly froze. The sound came again, somewhere ahead of him, too close for comfort. Some scuffling, and a toppled shelf shifted. Kurapica craned his neck, but couldn’t see the person— or undead — under it. His frantic eyes jumped around the full shelves again. He would probably never get another chance like this.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Kurapica slid off of the counter and gave the toppled shelves a wide berth. Keeping the area in his field of vision, he started scouring the medication on display for anything that seemed remotely interesting. Most of them meant absolutely nothing to him.

Another groan, and he shifted his full attention to the place the sounds were coming from. He saw the back of a shelving unit shift, and he unsheathed one of his knives. The noise that came out next was nearly pitious, and Kurapica resisted the urge to help the creature. He was likely going to end up as its meal. He couldn’t afford pity.

He turned back to the task again, and his eyes caught on some harder painkillers, codeine and morphine, and he snagged a few bottles of each. He went back closer to the counter and finally spotted the penicillin. He didn’t know how to use most of the antibiotics, but some had the posology printed on the boxes, and these were the ones he grabbed.

Satisfied that he’d gotten more than he’d even hoped for, he jumped over the counter again and made his slow, careful way back to the front windows of the shop. As he passed the outdoor gear, he found a hammock that didn’t seem like it would take too much room once rolled properly, complete with mosquito net. It wouldn’t do anything to keep him warm, but neither would a tent and that would leave him defenseless on the ground, whereas the hammock he could use up high in the trees. He added a thermal blanket, and declared himself more than satisfied. He’d probably need to keep the hammock and blanket rolled under the handles of his duffel, but at least he still only needed the one bag.

He peered carefully out before exiting, making sure to hold the bells above the door so they wouldn’t give his position away. He was halfway back down the street when two amblers stumbled out of an alley. He sprinted away as fast as he could, out of the small village, throwing (most of his) caution to the wind in favour of a quick getaway. He made it out without a hitch, but the noise was attracting more and more villagers, all clearly very much infected. Thankfully, they were slow amblers and he could outrun them easily on relatively flat road.

He ran and ran, until the fields gave way to brush, then to woodland, then he plunged into the trees, ran some more, scrambling up a large walnut tree. He went as far up as he dared, then he sat, his heart thudding a near painful staccato in his chest.

He’d made it another day.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _need more zombies? speak spanish? a good acquaintance of mine wrote another k/k zombie au (which i didn't know until she told me, as i don't speak a lick of spanish and... i haven't read k/k fics since like 2012). you can read it[here](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12858723/1/)! she's talking about translating it into english, so maybe we can all have more zombie aus soon!_


	2. A Lonely Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kurapica makes a few encounters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hello everyone! finally a new chapter on this thing! you'll notice that the characterization will be quite different from the one in dav. kurapica isn't so full of rage, for one. i hope you enjoy this new kurapica, haha._   
>  _a huge thank you to everyone who's commented and left kudos! they give me life._

* * *

 

**Chapter 2  
** **A Lonely Journey**

Once upon a time, life on the road had been something that Kurapica had enjoyed. It had been so much simpler back then. Before he knew about the Plague, about the dead rising and haunting the living in a much more gruesome manner than any spectre would. This was certainly not the sort of resurrection that people had been hoping for.

It wasn’t nearly as enjoyable anymore. There was him, alone with the wide world all around him, but the world had frightful teeth now. He travelled, roaming the countryside, circling widely around larger cities, where the dead were sure to be out in droves. He couldn’t force himself to use his Scarlet Eyes constantly, as they tired him far too quickly, but he triggered them again and again, looking for signs of his brethren.

Days passed by, lonely, wretched days, where loss and anguish warred within his soul; loss for his home and anguish for his family and friends. Days turned into weeks, turned into months. He scavenged where he could, finding food and sometimes medicine. At one point, he’d managed to wire a car and drove it until it ran out of gas. Now he was on foot again. Having a goal helped him keep going, but it was hard to feel like he made any progress at all.

Late spring gave way to full summer, and the sweltering heat added to Kurapica’s woes. He didn’t dare get rid of his few warmer hoodies, as he was all too aware that after summer, the autumn cold would bite at his skin, but this meant that he had to find room in his duffel to carry them.

One scorching late afternoon found him on the back porch of an abandoned wood cabin he’d gone through to find food but had found already ransacked. It could have been July or August; he wasn’t entirely sure of the date. The sun was slowly setting in the west, but he knew that the heat wouldn’t abate regardless. He was wondering whether to stop for the night, or force himself to walk on for a few more hours, when he triggered his Scarlet Eyes—

He held his breath, nearly dropping his bag in his shock. He blinked a few times to make sure that he had not hallucinated, but each time he opened his eyes again, he could see it still. A thin, barely visible stream of translucent red.

A Kuruta had walked by this house before.

It had to have been quite some time, because the light, gossamer smudge of colour and movement had nearly disappeared. He didn’t recognize the tint, a sort of purplish red, and couldn’t get a specific sense of _who_ had been here, but it was one of his people, for sure. Only they left these colour streams behind.

Kurapica quickly shouldered his bag and started walking resolutely, following the trail of colourful light. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was going in the wrong direction, as it soon vanished entirely. He turned on his heel and went in the opposite direction. He walked with renewed focus, not daring to return his eyes to normal, for fear that he would lose the trail, and after months of wandering around without a single clue to where his people had gone, he couldn’t afford let go of this one thread.

He walked in feverish anticipation for hours, knowing that it would probably be a long time before he caught up to whoever this was, but unable to slow down due to the fierce hope that had suddenly awoken within him. Woods gradually gave way to farmland.

He should have paid better attention to what was around him, and not just the trail he was following. He should have advanced cautiously, keeping an eye on the countryside around him. So taken was he with following the faint stream of colour, he did not see the ambler until it knocked him to the ground. He lost his focus, his eyes returning to their natural colour as they turned to what had once been a child, perhaps ten years old. It’s skin was sallow, his eyes sick-looking and filmed over, staring widely at him from under dark, lanky hair..

He shoved at it, then kicked and tried crawling backwards. The thing, unable to feel pain, scrambled after him, crooked fingers snatching at his clothes, a thin wail escaping its throat. Kurapica kicked up into its face, again and again, all of his weight on his left elbow as he desperately tried unsheathing one of his knives with his right hand.

The ambler let out another thin wail and came at him again. Its nails scratched at Kurapica’s legs, trying to find purchase, even as Kurapica kicked it. The Kuruta finally manage to free a knife and he thrust it at the thing’s face, catching it in the cheek. The blade hit the cheekbone and slid sideways. The ambler tried to catch his arm within its stiff fingers, nails scrambling over his skin.

Kurapica somehow managed to kick it in the throat hard enough that it fell backwards on its ass. The blond scrambled back quickly and got up into a crouch before it recovered. It crawled forward and looked up at him from under its filthy bangs. It tried to wail again, but all its ruined throat managed was a hiss like that of a snake.

This time, when it sprung at him, Kurapica was prepared. He leaped to his feet, kicked it down, flicked the knife to have a better grip, and held the thing face-down into the ground as he thrust his knife into the back of its neck, severing the spine right at the base of its skull. The thing had a strange, whole-body seizure that lasted three seconds, then it fell limp, unmoving.

Kurapica panted softly, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm. He swallowed. Gods, he was thirsty, suddenly. His heart was going a hundred fifty beats a minute and his hands were clammy. He wiped them on his pants, switching his knife from hand to hand. Looking down to the unmoving ambler child, he suddenly noticed the scratches on his forearms and froze. There were some welts, but in a few places, the thing’s nails had broken through his skin and blood was pearling on his pale skin.

“Shit!” he gasped, letting out some colourful language that he rarely ever used. “Fuck, shit, no, no no no, no no no no no!”

He looked around quickly and found an old barrel by a farmhouse, left outside to collect rainwater. He ran to it, still muttering curses under his breath. He let his knife fall at his feet, plunged one arm into the water and quickly wiped at it with his other hand, then switched. His hands were shaking by then, the terror of infection making his fingers clumsy. He washed as best he could, then picked up his knife and washed it too.

He was an idiot, an _idiot!_ He shouldn’t have let himself get distracted like that; this was a dangerous world and now he was going to die and turn into one of those things and—

He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out,  clenched his fists and reeled himself back from the edge of a panic attack. So, he’d been scratched. He would wash this properly, would put antiseptics on it, and go on as if nothing were amiss. Either he would become an undead thing, or he wouldn’t. Panicking was not going to change the outcome. It would simply squander what little energy he had.

He slowly turned on himself, surveying the area, in case the thing had travelled with others. Amblers often moved around in pairs or groups. He strained his ears for the sound of something human sized walking around the tall corn stalks of the field a few paces to his left. He couldn’t hear or see anything, so he went through his bag and found his soap. This time, when he washed the scratches, he was far more thorough. He found his antiseptic ointment and covered each scratch, even those that hadn’t broken skin.

Then he repacked everything and triggered his Scarlet Eyes so he could find the red stream again. He walked, somewhat shakily, until he found the trail, then he followed it some way, wanting to get away from the thing that had once been a child but now lay like a broken doll in the mud. His hands gripped the strap of his duffle hard to keep them from shaking. He refused to think, refused to feel, focusing on his surroundings, on the steady tread of his runners on the ground. One step, then two, then three, all the way up to ten, then he started counting from one again.

When his eyes hurt and he started feeling weak, he started looking for somewhere to camp for the night. There was a line of trees separating two fields, a short distance to his right. He made his way to the sturdiest trees he could find and climbed one to fix one end of his hammock, then climbed another to attach the other end, before crawling on the thing. It was too warm for blankets, but he still took out his sleeping bag. He needed to wrap himself in, to feel safe, to feel like this day had never happened.

When he did sleep, his dreams were filled with dark, dead things, clawed hands grasping at his body, white, gleaming teeth sinking into his flesh. By sunrise, he was awake and shaking again. He tried eating a granola bar, but it stuck in his dry mouth and he gagged when he tried to swallow. He carefully wrapped the rest of it and spit out what was in his mouth, then crawled tiredly onto a branch to untie one end of his makeshift bed. It took him a long time to climb down, and even longer to go up the other tree and collect his hammock. Once he was down on the ground again, he triggered his Scarlet Eyes just long enough to ascertain which direction the faint red stream was going, and then he followed it.

He proceeded this way throughout the day, regularly making sure that he was still following the smudgy trail of red. He was certainly more careful about his surroundings. The previous day’s mistake may well cost him his life, and he wasn’t about to repeat it. His progress was slower like this, but he had to pick safety or speed; he could not have both.

He stopped and installed his hammock again just before nightfall. He managed to eat a little, but slept fitfully again, plagued by nightmares, waking up often. The morning sun found him awake, staring at the lightening sky above, wondering if he was infected, how long it would take to manifest if he was, and what would be the first signs, mentally. Would it be the hunger for human flesh, or perhaps aphasia? The thoughts whirling about his head were all terrible and paralyzing.

He forced himself to stop thinking and get up. This day passed in much the same way as the previous one, as did the ensuing week. The scenery slowly changed again, to small towns surrounded by farms and the occasional small thicket of trees. With clear signs of abandoned human settlements, the danger of an unfortunate meeting was growing exponentially. He tried to stay clear of the more densely developed land, though he did break into a house, which was thankfully empty, so he could raid their cupboards for food.

He saw some amblers in the distance, here and there. Most of the humans who had gotten sick seemed to have evolved into rather slow moving, hungry sort of undead; he’d rarely encountered any other sort, such as runners or the very rare burn-men like the one who’d caused the destruction of his village. He steered well away from them, even if it was sometimes difficult to find the red trail again afterwards. He hadn’t experienced any odd effect since the attack, but he wasn’t willing to gamble on his luck when his life was at stake.

The stream Kurapica been following grew more solid, more definite, encouraging him in the knowledge that he was on the right track. He felt heartened by this, and the horror of his possible contagion became more ephemeral, something of the past. Surely he would have developed symptoms by now if he had gotten infected. As his heart grew lighter day by day, his steps became more resolute, faster.

Until, just a few days after he’d broken into the house, he saw a city in the distance, with the stream of light clearly headed in that direction. He paused then, shifting uncomfortably. City meant a lot of people had probably been infected. It would be filled with the undead, crawling at any sound or smell, or whatever it was that alerted amblers that there was a living thing. Was he willing to risk his own security for a chance to find one of his brethren?

The answer was obvious, but it didn’t make this any easier.

It took him most of the day to walk to the edge of the city. As he checked that he was still on the right path, he noticed another stream, this one definitely more purple than red, then another, veering towards the orange spectrum of light. He didn’t recognize the signatures; perhaps they were only distantly related to the Kuruta and had not lived in the Lukso valley. Still, as he got closer and closer to the city, more and more streams converged with the one he was following, until he was in the middle of a strange spiderweb of differently coloured streams of gossamer light. Some of them went around and back and all over the place, so that he could tell that some people had gone back and forth quite a bit, making him hope that perhaps they had actually established themselves in the city.

He came to an abrupt stop as sudden, crushing dread assailed him.

What if the Kuruta still emitted this signature once turned into one of the undead?

It didn’t bear thinking about. Still, Kurapica had to know. He didn’t dare go into the city in the dark, so he camped close to it, in a large beech tree that grew in someone’s yard. He left again soon after sunrise, and started exploring carefully through the narrowing streets. When he triggered his Scarlet Eyes, the neighbourhood was a cacophony of light streams going in every direction, so he couldn’t rely on one to guide him to wherever these Kuruta were living.

He found a large avenue and walked resolutely down the median strip, careful not to walk so fast as to attract unwanted attention. He thought that perhaps, if he walked like one of the amblers, they would think him undead and not bother him. The median strip was narrow, with large trees growing at regular intervals. It was clearly a well-established city, one that had been settled a long time ago. When he used his Scarlet Eyes, he could see that a lot of the streams overlapped down this very road, and that was reassuring.

Sometime around noon, he arrived in what seemed to be the city centre and saw his way blocked by a tall palisade. His heart surged with hope. Here was a very clear sign that some survivors had been here at some point after the outbreak. There were chain link fence panels, corrugated steel sheets, barbed wire, sheets of pressed woods and other scavenged items, making a tall wall that crossed the large boulevard. He couldn’t see how big the camp was.

He gripped his duffle strap with both hands squeezing it tightly as he walked, unable to stop himself from going a little faster. When he was a few metres from the palisade, there was a sudden, loud popping sound and he stopped dead in his track. A bit of grass and earth exploded at his feet. He stared down at the small hole that had appeared at his feet and realized that he was being shot at. Worried that the noise would attract every ambler in the city right to where he was standing, he raised both hands in a clear sign that he wasn’t attacking whoever was aiming at him.

On the other side of a few panels of chain link fence, a small figure appeared. Kurapica waited a few precious moments to make sure no one would shoot him dead, then he took a tentative step forward. When nothing happened, he took another step forward, then another. It seemed that the earlier bullet had been a warning shot just to ascertain that he wasn’t one of the undead, and now that whoever had determined that he was still very much human, they were done wasting ammunition.

He made his way to the chain link fence, heart hammering in his chest and constantly peeking around his shoulders to make sure that no ambler was coming his way. He reached the palisade without further incident and stood in front of a small person of indeterminate sex or age. They were wearing a floppy hat and had prominent front teeth.

“Good afternoon,” they greeted in a melodious, feminine voice.

“Good afternoon,” Kurapica replied, nonplussed. He hadn’t expected politeness. Whoever they were looked much cleaner than he’d seen anything look in months, and he felt distinctly unwashed.

“Are you seeking shelter?” the person asked him. Their (her?) eyes were kind and warm.

“For a time, at least,” Kurapica agreed, not ready to go into the details of why exactly he was there.

“It is our rule that whoever seeks shelter here must be a participating member of the community,” the small person continued. “If a person is able to walk, as you are, we ask that they bring supplies to gain entry.”

Kurapica nodded, as this seemed absolutely reasonable. A fixed camp wouldn’t have as much of a chance to scavenge as someone roaming far and wide. He unzipped his bag with one hand, still holding the other up to show his peaceful intentions.

“I have medication,” he said, and the small person’s eyes widened in obvious awe. He pulled a few bottles and read the labels. “Morphine, codeine, penicillin and other antibiotics.”

“Where on earth did you get that?” she asked in a breath.

“Can I come in?” Kurapica asked her instead of answering.

“Ah, yes, just one last question. Have you had an encounter with one of the ghouls recently?”

“Ghouls?” Kurapica asked, not a word he’d heard before, but then it clicked. He’d certainly had read the word in a few different books. “Well, I was attacked not quite two weeks ago,” he admitted.

“Two weeks?” they asked. At his nod, she continued, “Have you been bitten or touched in anyway?”

Kurapica bared both his arms. “Some scratches,” he said.

The small person—woman? He thought she was a woman—before him nodded. “No fever? Feeling like you’re on fire? Headaches?”

“No,” the blond replied, “nothing but nightmares.” He glanced around him for signs of undead things, then returned his gaze to the woman.

She had a sympathetic smile. “Most of us have nightmares,” she said. “Do you have a Spider tattoo?”

The question was so incongruous that Kurapica blinked at her a few times before shaking his head. “No tattoo at all.”

“If I let you in,” she said with a nod, “you’ll have to be put in quarantine because of the scratches, probably for a week or two, depending what they decide is safest.” She didn’t specify who _they_ referred to. “The medication would guarantee you shelter for as long as we can hold the fort, if you still want to come in.”

Kurapica nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. “Please,” he said.

They nodded to him, then to someone to their left, whom he couldn’t see because of a panel of corrugated steel. He heard a car door open, then a grunt, then a few people came and moved the fence so that he could slip through. They replaced it after him and he turned to see people pushing a car back, he assumed, to its original position, holding the chain link fence in place. Someone pulled the handbrake, then closed the car door.

“I’m Senritsu,” the small person he’d been talking with said. “It means _melody_ in my tongue. I’m sorry for not shaking your hand, but we’re playing it safe for the safety of all our people.”

“Are there many of you here?” Kurapica wanted to know.

“Not quite two hundred,” she replied. “Follow me.”

Kurapica fell into step beside her, a little overwhelmed by the fact that he was surrounded by hundreds of living, breathing people. He hadn’t seen anyone in so, so very long. He clutched the strap of his bag, trying to keep himself grounded.

“You haven’t told me your name,” Senritsu chided him a moment later. “Even if not your actual name, it would be nice to have something to call you.”

“Oh,” the blond said, “it’s Kurapica.”

“Has a nice ring to it,” Senritsu said as she led him into a small alley between two buildings. She opened a large metal door. “In here,” she said, and preceded him inside, although she checked to make sure that he was following.

They crossed a small room with a few lockers, then went out into a hall where there were doors to a few offices and maintenance closets, all carefully marked with embossed signs. They emerged into a small atrium, surrounded by a few small shops. It looked to be the ground floor of an apartment complex. There was a pharmacy, with empty shelves long since looted, a small corner shop at one end, and a heavily barred shop with a sign that proclaimed it a pawn shop. Senritsu motioned towards it.

“We use the shop as a quarantine cell,” she said, “because the windows are so heavily barred. If someone ends up being infected and turns, they won’t be able to attack anyone.”

“Has it ever happened?” Kurapica asked.

Her grim silence and sad frown were his answer. “We always disinfect the cell after anyone’s been in it,” she said after a moment. “It gets the treatment of a hospital room.”

She slid a hand in a bag fastened to her belt and pulled out a set of keys. One had a cherry red plastic cap on the round end. She slid it into the lock and opened the door. Inside, whatever had been in the pawn shop had been cleared away. Instead, there were two single beds, a flimsy looking nightstand with a lantern on it, as well as a few candles. Heavy black drapes covered every window. It was pretty spacious, all things considered, especially as it was so sparsely furnished.

Kurapica walked inside and slowly turned on himself. Senritsu took a step inside and pressed the light switch. To Kurapica’s amazement, the lights flickered and hummed and came to life. Senritsu pointed to a part of the window that separated the shop from the atrium. “That pane is broken, but it allows you to talk with people outside if you want. No one can actually come in, because of the bars, so you are perfectly safe. You will be able to hear people out in the atrium, however. I’ll warn the residents to be quiet so as not to disturb you. You can open the drapes if you want, or leave them down at your convenience. You can also lock the door from the inside so I can’t get in even if I have a key.”

“This is—” Kurapica began, but didn’t know how to finish the sentence. For someone who’d been surviving as best he could and sleeping out in the open for months, this seemed like amazing luxury. Just to feel _safe_ , for once.

Senritsu gave him a little smile as if she knew the intense emotions running through him. “There’s a bathroom through there,” she pointed to a door he’d assumed to be a broom closet. “No guarantee on the hot water, and there’s only a sink, but you should be able to clean yourself up a bit. I’ll bring you clean clothes and take yours to be disinfected and washed. After you leave quarantine, you’ll have to do your own laundry, though.”

She pulled some gloves on. “Do you mind giving me the medication you have now?” she asked, taking out a small plastic bag. “I’ll make sure to deliver it to the infirmary.”

Kurapica nodded and sat on one of the beds to go through his bag. He selected one bottle of each of the medication he had and gave them to the small woman. If she noticed that he was keeping some to himself, she didn’t comment. She closed the bag carefully.

“Thank you this should save some—”

“Senritsu!” A tall man with black hair gelled up in spikes appeared in the door, startling Kurapica. “Lucifer’s back!”

“Ah,” Senritsu turned to the man, “Leorio! Great timing. Kurapica’s just arrived. He brought morphine _and_ penicillin!”

She shook the small bag lightly, making the pills rattle. The man—Leorio, apparently—went a little wide eyed. “Seriously?! Where the fuck did you get those?”

“The seal on the bottles should be intact,” Kurapica evaded the question again.

“ _Seriously?”_ the man exclaimed again.

Kurapica nodded slowly, eyeing him warily.

“Leorio here is our resident doctor,” Senritsu explained.

“Not quite,” he protested, “I was still a student when the outbreak reached the city. But I’m the only one with some medical training and I still got my books and everything. Leorio Paladiknight.” He took a step in, hand extended, thought better of it, probably realizing that he was in the quarantine quarters, and raked his fingers through his hair instead, undoing a lot of the spikes. “You’re a real lifesaver, you know that, Kurapica?”

Kurapica didn’t know if his input was actually necessary, so he said nothing.

Senritsu gave him a friendly smile. “We should let you get settled,” she said. “The electricity is a little unstable—we have solar panels and wind turbines but not enough generators for dark, windless days—so we’ve left some candles here. Will you be comfortable?”

Kurapica nodded, feeling perhaps even more overwhelmed now that he had all of these luxuries to his disposal. “Thank you,” he added, somewhat belatedly.

“You’re very welcome,” she said with a smile.

She and Leorio left and closed the door, then Kurapica heard the key turn in the lock. As their steps retreated from his door, Kurapica heard the med student exclaim, “Morphine, for real?!” and Senritsu’s quiet melodic voice chiding him, “You should disinfect the bottles before touching them, just in case. Aren’t you our medic?” Then their voices grew too faint to hear.

Kurapica all but rushed to the bathroom. There were a few washrags and a towel hanging on a towel rack, and a bar of soap on the edge of the sink. He didn’t have clean clothes yet, but he could at least clean his face neck and ears, his armpits and nether regions. It would have to do for the moment, but the rest of him felt even dirtier after he had clean parts to compare it to.

He didn’t want to lay in bed while still so dirty, so he sat on the floor and pulled out all of his clothes out of his bag and set them down by the door, then he sat with his one luxury: a book he’d pilfered from the house he’d broken into earlier that week.

He read quietly for some time—though he wasn’t sure how long as he’d left the drapes drawn and couldn’t judge from a sun he couldn’t see—but he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps headed towards him, followed by a knock. It sounded too heavy for Senritsu so he thought that perhaps it was that Leorio guy.

Even as the possibility entered his mind however, he felt his hackles rise, though he wasn’t sure exactly why. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he found himself filled with horror, revulsion and intense, paralyzing fear, for no reason that he could discern.

“Yeah,” he managed, horrified to find his voice come out strangled and breathless. There was a jangle of keys, then the lock turning and the door finally opened. Kurapica shielded himself by folding his knees tight against his chest. There was a man in the doorway, neither very tall nor very short, his black hair slicked back from his forehead and a disquieting blank look on his face. All in all, not someone who should have triggered such an intensely visceral reaction from him, but Kurapica could barely breathe.

The man took a step into the room and looked down at him, then cocked his head to the side, the movement strangely other, not quite human. Kurapica shuddered.

“Senritsu informed me you arrived today,” the man said, his voice deep and smooth. “You were scratched?”

Kurapica forced himself to take a deep breath and found his feet, unwilling to remain on the floor and have this man look down on him. He backed away enough to have breathing room, though this man’s eyes, dark and unreadable, seemed to be reaching into his very soul and shaking him to the core.

“That’s why I’m in quarantine,” Kurapica said, defiant despite his best attempt at being civil. Who even was this man? “Shouldn’t you stay away?”

The man made an oddly elegant wave with one hand. “I’ve no reason to be concerned,” he said, as if the very deadly outbreak was absolutely inconsequential. “I’m a Spider. The boss here, if you will.”

None of these words made sense when put together this way, and Kurapica blinked a few times. “Come again?”

“My name,” the man said, “is Kuroro Lucifer. I am the head of the Spiders, a small group who lead and protect this camp. Your name is Kurapica?”

The blond nodded, overwhelmed with a sudden urge that made his eyes ache.

“So,” he said, slowly, “if you’re the boss here, this is, what, my welcome committee? Do you always come to welcome new faces that come into your camp?”

Kuroro’s wide eyes blinked once, and he regarded Kurapica solemnly, studying him with an intense gaze that unnerved the Kuruta. Kurapica’s hand were clammy, and his throat so dry, he could barely breathe. He swallowed, but refused to give his anxiety away by rubbing his hands on his jeans.

“No,” Kuroro said, finally, “only those who were scratched, but did not become infected.”

* * *

 

 


	3. And Then There Were Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kurapica gets settled in the survivor camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ok, i technically finished this two weeks ago, but i was so unhappy with it, i just spent so long editing and rewriting, and i'm finally satisfied with it. sort of. but hey, it's the last chapter of world building and now the story itself can finally start. i'm still going through pretty rough times, and i truly appreciate all of the comments and kudos. thank you so much! the support from this community is amazing!_

* * *

 

**Chapter 3  
** **And Then There Were Four**

  
Kurapica stared at the man in front of him, uncertain of how to react. He was well aware that contagion was much faster now than it had been in the early years of the pandemic, and that they were only acting with an abundance of caution, keeping him in quarantine. There was a good chance now that the scratches he’d suffered hadn’t actually infected him, but he wasn’t sure why this Kuroro Lucifer, head of the Spiders, even cared about this.

The man didn’t explain further. He extended a hand towards Kurapica, and the blond felt a sudden desire to back away, to draw his knives, to avoid this strange person at all cost. There was a long, drawn-out silence where they stared at each other. Kuroro was calm, placid, patiently waiting for him. Kurapica felt like he was at the top of a tall building and the floor had suddenly disappeared from underneath his feet. The vertigo was as disorientating as it was inexplicable.

He didn’t want to touch him.

He didn’t want to look at him, to be anywhere near him, and yet, and yet, he found himself slowly raising his arm and pulling back his sleeve. Kuroro’s fingers wrapped around his wrist—his hands were cool, the skin surprisingly soft—and the blond had to resist the urge to rip his arm from the loose hold and run out the still open door. He forced himself to stay put, even as the older man inspected his arm. Kurapica also focused on the shallow scratches, trying very hard not to scream. It felt—everything felt—so wrong, so very wrong.

Kuroro slid his fingertips over the faint marks, all the remaining signs of the attack, barely visible now, and Kurapica shivered. The movement stopped, and there was a pause. When Kurapica looked up, the older man’s dark eyes were fixed on his face, studying him with an intensity that was making something flare inside of the blond, warm and uncomfortable.

Kuroro finally let go of his arm, took a step back and cocked his head to the side. His eyebrows lowered minutely, giving him a slightly pensive look. He regarded the blond, and Kurapica hastily lowered his sleeve back over his arm and crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest. Then, without another word, Kuroro turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Kurapica could finally breathe again.

Even as he was relieved to find himself alone again, he felt somewhat irritated with the man for giving him this cryptic comment, then leaving without an explanation. He listened to the sound of the lock turning and heard it catch, then to the man’s footfall as he stepped away and crossed the hall to leave the building. He walked quietly to the windows and pushed one of the curtains aside to check that Kuroro had indeed left, then he let the drape fall back into place.

He took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and finally did what he he’d been itching to do from the moment the older man had come near his door; he triggered his Scarlet Eyes. Slowly, he turned his head to look at where Kuroro had stood, just inside of the door. He jolted a little, confused and angry in equal measures.

Right where the older man had stopped, Kurapica could see the outline of the man’s silhouette, blurry where he’d moved, but otherwise quite crisp. It was a bright vermilion red, one of the brightest he’d seen since leaving his village, years before, to go on his grand adventure. It couldn’t be. It made no sense. It wasn’t _right_.

Kurapica knew one thing, deep in the very bottom of his soul: Kuroro Lucifer was not a Kuruta. He didn’t know how or why the older man had come to display this aura, which—as far as Kurapica knew—only the Kuruta tribe had ever emitted at a frequency that was perceivable when using Scarlet Eyes, but he could not deny what his own eyes were showing him. It was a disconcerting sight, and the blond found himself both intrigued and appalled by it. The implications escaped him for the moment, but he had to solve this riddle, he had to. Somehow.

He would have to find out everything that he could about this man.

He retreated to his bed and sat beside it on the floor again, picking up his book. For a few, long minutes, he stared at the door, turning his book over and over between his hands. Try as he might, he could not make sense of any of this however, and eventually, he opened the tome and found his place in the chapter again. A few hours went by, and the unease lessened. Eventually, there was a soft knock at the door, which startled him quite badly, as he hadn’t heard anyone approach.

“It’s me, Senritsu,” came the pleasantly melodic voice of the young woman. “I’ve brought you clean clothes to change into, if you want to get yourself cleaned up.”

“Yeah,” Kurapica began, voice sounding strange to his own ear. He cleared his throat. “Come in.”

The key turned in the lock again, and Senritsu’s kind face appeared, somewhat hidden behind a pile of clothes and towels. Kurapica climbed to his feet and went to help her. He didn’t want to touch the bundle too much, as only his hands were clean enough to handle fresh clothes, and he hastily set the pile down on one of the beds.

“Thank you,” the diminutive woman said with a friendly smile.

“I should be the one thanking you,” Kurapica protested. “I’ll give the clothes back as soon as mine are washed.”

“Oh, no,” Senritsu said, shaking her head and smiling. “These are yours. Kuroro specifically went out into town to get them. He said they should fit.”

Kurapica blinked, startled. “Why would he do that?” he asked, too surprised to be polite. Why would this man, whom he’d only just met, go out into a city crawling with undead creeps and risk his life, and to bring him what? Clothes. Not food or medication, but mere clothes. The thought was jarring, and Kurapica didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Senritsu shrugged lightly. “I’ve stopped wondering why he does most of the things he does,” she said with a little frown which spoke of a few disagreements that probably didn’t sit very well with her.

“Does he always supply new people in the camp like this?” Kurapica wanted to know, though he had the feeling that he already knew the answer.

“No,” she admitted slowly.

“ _Only those who were scratched, but did not become infected,”_ Kurapica quoted.

“Well,” Senritsu said, “You would be the first who reported close contact with an infected weeks before arriving here while showing no sign of illness, and also the first person he’s gone _shopping_ for, so I suppose that it’s entirely possible the two are related.”

Kurapica chewed on that for a moment. Senritsu looked patiently on, letting him analyze this information.

“When I arrived at the gate,” he said after a moment, “you asked me if I had a Spider tattoo. Why did you ask me that? He said—Kuroro said—that he was the _head of the Spiders_.”

Senritsu was quiet for the space of a few breaths, then shook her head with an apologetic look on her gentle face. “I’m going to have to let him answer that question, if he chooses to,” she said slowly, as if she were carefully choosing her words. “I _can_ tell you that the Spiders are sort of the people who keep this camp safe but they’re not—” She cut herself short and waved a hand. “No, I think I should let you make your own opinion, if you decide to stay.”

Kurapica accepted that quietly. He waited a moment, but they seemed to have run out of things to say for the time being.

“Well,” Senritsu said, having clearly come to the same conclusion, “I should let you get yourself cleaned up and settled. Will you be wanting supper?”

Kurapica pondered on whether or not he trusted these people enough to eat the food they offered, but the truth of the matter was that he should accept whatever was given and keep the supplies he had for when he left again.

“Yeah,” he finally decided, “I’d love to have something to eat.”

She gave him a knowing smile, as if she had followed his mental train of thought and understood the reason for his slight hesitation. “I’ll bring you a plate,” she promised. “Should be a couple of hours until then, so—” Her eye caught on something behind Kurapica’s feet. “Oh! I see you have a book. Good; I was hoping that you wouldn’t get too bored, locked up in here.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Oh, I have my clothes here. I can wash them after I get out of here, but—”

“I’ll take them,” Senritsu said as she picked them up from the floor by the door. “You just rest while you’re in here. The real world can wait for a week or two.”

Kurapica smiled, taken in by her kind nature. She smiled back and let herself out.

Alone again, Kurapica picked up the small but sturdy wooden beam next to the door and slid it through metal holders to block the door from the inside (the original lock seemed to have been forced). Feeling more secure like this, he went back to the bathroom to wash himself properly. The water remained warm for the entirety of his ablution, and that small comfort steadied him. Being entirely clean for the first time in months was a wonderful feeling, one that Kurapica would be wise not to get too attached to. If no actual Kuruta was in this camp, then he would certainly leave again. As soon as he had cracked open the enigma that one Kuroro Lucifer presented.

Kurapica got dressed in the clothes that the man had gotten for him, and was rather flummoxed to find that they fit. They were tighter than he preferred them, but fit him snugly. The jeans were dark, softer than he thought denim was supposed to feel, and looked to be quite good quality. The top he chose to wear also seemed to be higher-end kind of fabric, thin and comfortable. He supposed, since money was worthless and whoever had owned the shops in this town had probably died or turned a long time ago, one might as well get luxurious clothes, but Kurapica thought it would be more practical to _shop_ at a workman shop to get sturdy cargos.

He settled down on his bed this time, finally feeling clean enough to take advantage of this comfortable luxury. He picked up his book to read and spent some time quite focused on the text. It was an interesting topic, and he was more than glad to put one enigmatic man out of his mind for now. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when there was some noise outside of his room again. There was the patter of feet and voices. Young voices. Kurapica stood from his bed and walked to the barred windows so he could push the curtain aside and look out to the hall.

“Gon, wait up,” someone said, and a young boy, presumably Gon, bounced into the hall and turned back towards a stairwell Kurapica remembered noticing on his way in but which was now just out of sight.

“Hurry,” the boy said, “I’m starving!”

He was so young. Well, Kurapica figured he was pretty young himself, but this boy looked he hadn’t even reached puberty yet. His friend—looking to be about the same age—finally appeared. He opened his mouth to say something, but then turned to where the Kuruta was standing. Kurapica froze in surprise, but the first boy turned towards him too.

“Is there someone in there?” he asked.

Seeing how there was no point pretending that he wasn’t there, Kurapica opened his curtain further. The two friends walked over to him.

“Hello,” said the darker of the two boys, pushing a hand between the bars, “I’m Gon and this is my friend Killua. What’s your name?”

Kurapica looked from one to the other, then at the hand. “You shouldn’t touch me,” he told Gon. “I’m in quarantine.”

The boy’s smile slipped a little before coming back full force. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s just polite to shake when you meet someone new.”

Kurapica found himself smiling back at him. “It is,” he agreed, “but dangerous when they’re in here.”

Killua smacked the back of Gon’s head. “You’re an idiot,” he informed him with the exasperated fondness of a close friend.

“So why’re you in there?” Gon asked.

“Obviously, he’s been in contact with the zombies,” Killua scoffed.

“I have,” Kurapica confirmed. “It’s been a few weeks, however. We’re just being careful.”

“Guess you can’t come to dinner then,” Killua said, with the tone of someone who didn’t care either way.

“Senritsu promised to bring something to—ah,” Kurapica spotted the woman in question carrying a tray. “She’s bringing it to me as we speak. You were hungry so you should go eat. I’ll still be here when you’ve had supper.”

“We’ll be back,” Gon promised as his friend pulled him away. Senritsu smiled at them as she crossed their path in the large hall.

“Supper,” she told Kurapica unnecessarily as she reached his confinement area.

He looked at the tray in wonder as she set it down to open the door.

“Home cooked food?” he asked. When had been the last time he’d even had a warm meal?

“We grow the vegetable and herbs ourselves,” Senritsu explained. “We supplement the gardens with canned goods, but we’re trying to be self-sufficient, as supplies are dwindling fast. Are you interested in gardening?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about gardening. Or cooking, for that matter.”

“That’s all right,” she assured him. “If you decide to stay, we’ll find you something to do around the camp.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and watched her unlock the door. He remembered the wooden bar only when she tugged on the door and it didn’t open. He hurriedly removed it, and she passed him the tray. She left shortly after and Kurapica took his time with the first home cooked meal he had had in a long, long time.

Kuroro didn’t come to see him again. Kurapica spent a week in quarantine, visited daily by Gon and Killua, and occasionally, the med student—Leorio—joined them too. They had pulled a few chairs close to his window and he’d dragged his bed closer to sit on the other side of the bars. He listened more than he talked, but they didn’t seem to mind and he learned a lot about his new acquaintances.

Killua had run away from home. Gon had left his island like Kurapica had, to see the world, unaware of the pandemic that had swept the planet. Leorio had been a student in this very city. He happened to own quite a few books, and was more than happy to loan some to Kurapica.

The week went by like this, so incredibly peaceful that it made Kurapica feel a little unsettled. He wasn’t used to feeling so safe. At the end of the week, Senritsu came to let Kurapica out and when he stepped through the door, he spotted his three friends-in-progress waiting for him out in the hall. A tiny smile pulled at his lips.

“Kurapica!” Gon greeted him cheerfully and came running towards him. He stopped in front of the blond and presented his hand to shake.

Kurapica’s smile widened. He took the proffered hand and squeezed.

“Are you going to stay here?” Leorio asked him, towering above all of them.

Kurapica tilted his head to one side, then shrugged. “For some time. There is something I need to do, but I’m also quite interested by the camp.”

“Kuroro said that you can have one of the apartments in the Tower,” Senritsu said. “In thanks for the medication, I think. It’s the most comfortable—and safest—building in the camp. It used to be a high-end apartment building.”

“I live there,” Leorio said, “being the only medical person in town. Comes with some perks.”

“I’ll probably stay for about a month,” Kurapica said, thinking that it may give him enough time to figure out why there were all these aura trails that should have been Kuruta, yet may not be.

“I’ll show you to the building,” Leorio said. “I think there’s a few apartments empty on the floor below mine.”

Kurapica nodded, hitched up his duffel strap, picked up the new bag he’d had to ask for to carry his new clothes and motioned for the medic to lead the way.

“We don’t live in the Tower,” Gon said. “We live here, but three stories up.”

“He probably figured that out a week ago,” Killua pointed out to his friend.

Kurapica’s smile widened. “I had an inkling that might be the case,” he admitted.

Senritsu took the new bag from his hand and gave him a sweet smile. “I live in the ugly red brick building near the gate,” she told him. “I’m the one who is in charge of that end of the fence, so I live close-by. It’s very convenient.”

“Have you thought of what you want to do while you stay here?” Leorio asked as they walked out behind the building and made their way to the main artery.

Kurapica thought about this for a moment. “I don’t have specific skills,” he admitted. “I’ve trained in martial arts when I was living at home, but this is kind of useless for fighting off the amblers when a simple scratch could kill you.”

“No,” Killua piped up, “but it’s pretty rad for scavenging, and you probably got those skills where you use the environment to fight off attackers. Were you in one of those schools?”

“Sort of,” Kurapica hedged, unwilling to discuss his lost tribe and their martial training just yet. “Why do you ask?”

“Leorio said you brought medicine,” Killua explained.  “Means you went to the very back of a shop, where the pills usually are. That takes tons of self-confidence.”

“Killua and me are scavengers,” Gon announced proudly.

“Killua and _I_ ,” Senritsu gently corrected. At Kurapica’s amused glance, she smiled. “It’s good to use the proper grammatical structure, even during an apocalypse.”

As they reached the main road and Kurapica stepped out into the sun, he paused, right in the middle of the street. He opened his arms slightly and tilted his head back, upturning his face to the light. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. It felt so marvellous, being outside again.

“I suppose I may try scavenging,” he agreed, opening his eyes again. The others had formed a semi-circle around him, eyeing him curiously (except for Killua, who had his hands in his pockets and was looking around with a bored expression on his face). “I’ve had to scavenge when travelling alone.”

“You don’t look strong enough to carry much,” Leorio pointed out.

Kurapica bristled, instantly incensed. “You don’t look smart enough to study medicine,” he sent back, leaving the others to gape at his back as he started down the avenue.

“Say that again?!” Leorio challenged.

Kurapica kept walking. Leorio had started this, as far as he was concerned. Kurapica had only been stating the obvious. The tall man _did_ look stupid, with his spiky hair and tiny sunglasses that couldn’t really shield his eyes from any sunlight. Utterly impractical. He knew that he looked more feminine than most guys his age, but that did _not_ mean that he was weak. What did Leorio know anyway?

“You do look pretty dumb, old man,” Killua pointed out, not too far behind the blond, so he must have followed.

“Killua,” Gon whined, also right behind him.  

“Now, now,” Senritsu said in her sweet, soothing voice, “we all know that looks can be very deceiving.”

“Whatever,” Leorio grumped. He plodded after the little group, his footfall heavy behind Kurapica.

Suddenly, there was a shout, and they all paused and turned towards the noise. There was some sort of commotion by the fence, somewhere to their right. Senritsu handed Kurapica’s second bag to Killua who shouldered it with a shrug.

“You go get settled,” the petite woman told Kurapica. “I should go see what’s going on.” She trotted towards the noise, and the blond watched her go with some apprehension. He was surprised to find that he was desperately hoping that it was nothing and she’d be alright. It reminded him sharply that any of them could die or turn into one of the undeads at anytime.

The blond hesitated, somewhat remorseful that he’d let his temper flare for something so silly. He turned his head to look at Leorio. “Senritsu’s right,” he said, an apology of sorts, “one cannot judge a book by its cover. You’re probably very intelligent, despite your looks.”

“Whatever,” Leorio said again, sounding less grumpy this time.

They walked down the large street as a group, the silence a little strained, but not as brittle. Kurapica saw a few people rush towards the fence, rifles and shotguns in hand. Their boots stomped the ground as they ran, and Kurapica’s small party walked closer to the buildings on the other side of the street to let the defenders go by unimpeded.

They led Kurapica to a gleaming, modern building, and Leorio opened the door and went in, soon followed by Kurapica and his new friends. They went to the service stairs, despite the low hum of the working elevator. “The elevator takes too much juice,” Leorio explained. “I’m the only one allowed to use it, for medical emergencies.” They walked up a few floors, until the tall man stopped.

“Most of this floor is empty, he said. “Basically, whatever apartment you can break into, you get to keep, is how we manage things. I got a friend to open mine. I’m not really strong or good with pick-locking.”

“You live above?” Kurapica asked him.

“Room 708,” Leorio confirmed.

“Is there anyone living just below you?”

“Nope,” the med student said.

“You don’t stomp, do you?” Kurapica asked him. “I could climb down from your window, to get into the apartment below yours.”

“You could what?!” Leorio asked. “We’re on the sixth floor!”

“I’m aware,” Kurapica assured him.

Leorio looked from him to their companions, one by one, but Gon said, “If he’s confident he can do it, we should believe in him!”

“If you fall,” Leorio warned, turning on the blond, “I won’t treat you.”

“Leorio,” Gon whined with a childish pout.

The man in question heaved an aggravated sigh and led them up another floor, then down a hallway to his door. “I don’t want to hear crap about the mess,” he grumbled, shoving the key into his lock and twisting it. He opened the door on a very wide, very _lived-in_ space.

Suddenly, a large man came running up the stairs. “Leorio,” he called, “we need you at the fence. Veze’s hurt!”

The tall man swore and grabbed Gon’s hand, upturned it and pressed his keys into it. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

“Can I have a look at your windows?” Kurapica asked and Leorio waved vaguely towards the far wall, then hurried after the stranger.

Kurapica watched him rush to the elevator, then he turned and made his way across the large, open-plan living area. The large bay of windows in the living room didn’t open at all, so Kurapica wandered down the small hallway to a bedroom, then an office, the two young boys trailing behind him. Both of these rooms had windows which could slide open, but the one in the office seemed to be easier to open, even from the outside. He nodded to himself, pushing the window open wide, then glanced back at his friends.

“Watch out for zombies,” Killua warned, letting his bag fall unceremoniously to the floor. “In the other apartments, I mean.”

“See you soon,” Gon added cheerfully.

Kurapica set his bag down, checked his knives and heaved himself onto the windowsill. He turned so he was facing the room and carefully sought a foothold. Then he slid his other foot a little lower and found a pipe. He tested it gently to see if it would hold him, then he lowered himself. He slowly climbed down the brick wall, using ledges and pipes, as well as his strong and clever fingers to find places to grip. He soon got to the window below, and to his delight, it was already open. He anchored himself firmly onto the this windowsill and shoved the edge of the screen. It fell into the room and Kurapica slid inside, then quickly unsheathed his knives.

He took a moment to listen carefully, trying to hear if anything was coming towards him, drawn in by the noise of the window screen falling to the floor. His own breathing and heartbeat felt too loud to his own ears and he tried to suppress both so he could listen to noises outside of himself. Everything seemed still and silent, so he edged carefully out of the office to explore the rest of the apartment. He peered into the bedroom, the bathroom and the supply closet, then carefully made his way to the living area. Empty. Whomever had lived there had died or turned elsewhere.

There was a side table near the front door and a set of keys had been left in a basket on top of it. He tried them on the entrance. He quietly went out into the hallway and locked the door behind him, then made his way up to knock at Leorio’s door.

Senritsu opened it nearly as soon as he’d lowered his hand away from the door. At his surprised look, she had a soft, tinkling laugh. “I heard you come up,” she explained. “There was a scuffle at the fence, but everything’s in order.”

Kurapica was suitably impressed. She must have excellent hearing to have heard him climb the stairs. “How’s Veze?” he asked, trying out the name he’d heard.

Her gaze grew troubled. “Dead,” she said. “She started turning right away. The infection is getting to be so fast, we can’t keep up. Bashou had to kill her before she turned completely. He’s pretty upset. They’d been friends for some time.” She sighed then waved her hand. “Have you found suitable lodgings?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry about Veze.”

She nodded and gave him a small, sad and tired smile. “It is always sad when we lose people. But I should let you get settled in. Gon and Killua are keeping Leorio company. He’s got a big heart, and he’s always upset when we lose someone. Here, I have your bags.”

Kurapica took his belongings from her hands and she promised to have someone take him to the cafeteria for dinner. With a last glance at her sad smile, he went down to his new place. He had a lot of cleaning to do to get settled in. He started by washing the bed covers and cleaning most of the accumulated dust in the bedroom, as he wanted to be able to sleep in there that night. He found all the cleaning supplies he needed in the cupboard off of the hallway and spent a good length of time disinfecting as much as he could (just to be safe). He focused on the doorknobs and light switches as well as taps and anywhere he thought he’d end up touching that day. Once the bed sheets were clean, he put the pillows and blanket in the washer and started another cycle, then he proceeded to turn on his Scarlet Eyes, although he didn’t expect much.

The apartment was clear of any trail but his own, as he’d guessed, but as he reached the room he’d broken in from, his gaze was immediately drawn to the window. There was his own trail, of course, red and gold, sharp and fresh, but there were also some going vertically in front of the window. He walked closer and peered outside. He could see trails all over the small compound, connecting, intersecting, meeting and separating again. And they all converged at the foot of the building, and from there, went directly up. He followed them up with his gaze, the trails a jumble of blurry colours, and saw that they went up to the roof.

He was pretty grubby by that point, but he still grabbed his keys and went outside to investigate. Even on the ground, there was no way he could see one could go up, unless whoever left these trails behind (he wasn’t assuming they were Kuruta anymore) had scaled the walls. Back inside, he went up the stairwell, trying to get to the roof, but around the 11th floor, the staircase had been smashed and destroyed, and there was no way for him to go up the last two floors when the walls were smooth and there was no grip anywhere that he could see. Even the rubble had been taken away. Whoever was up there, they didn’t want any surprise visitors.

Kurapica went back to his new apartment and cleaned out spoiled food from the pantry and fridge, and then realized that he didn’t know what people did about garbage disposal. Well, he could ask his friends when he met with them for dinner. He went and took a shower, the most glorious human invention he could think of as he luxuriated under the warm spray. He got out and dried himself quickly, then transferred the pillows and blanket to dryer and started a cycle. Only then did he take a much needed rest with a novel he’d found in one of the well-stocked bookcases in his new home.

Leorio came to collect him for dinner, announcing his presence with a sharp knock. He waved his condolences away with affected disinterest, but he did give him a slightly sad smile a moment later. He led him a few blocks from their building, giving Kurapica the guidelines for garbage and laundry, as they had to take turns so as not to overwhelm their slightly fragile grid. Kurapica apologized for doing it out of turn, but Leorio assured him it was fine, since he wasn’t aware of the guidelines just yet. The resources were spread thin, though there were perhaps a little over a hundred people living there. The guidelines were simply there to make sure no one wanted for anything.

Two blocks from their apartment building, Leorio guided him into a school, where the cafeteria had been deemed the perfect place for the small community to get their meals. Kurapica soon found himself seated at a long table with a warm meal before him and his new acquaintances all around him. Quite a few people were eating all around them, and there were many a curious glances sent their way.

Dinner was generally pleasant, but after such a long time spent alone, Kurapica felt slightly overwhelmed. In quarantine, there had been a level of separation between himself and his new acquaintances, but like this, with Leorio quite tactile, clapping his shoulder or poking his arm, it was a little much.

He’d mostly finished his meal, when a hush fell over what had been quite boisterous cafeteria. He lifted his head and followed the gaze of his companions, but at first, he couldn’t find what they were all looking at. He was about to ask what was happening, when movement between the tables finally drew his attention.

There was a very short figure heading their way, dressed in black from head to toe. Kurapica wasn’t very tall himself, but this person seemed to be closer to Killua’s height. They winded between the tables and making their way to where Kurapica was sitting. As they drew closer and closer, apprehension crept up Kurapica’s spine, the same sort of revulsion that had filled him when he’d been in the presence of the Spider Head. Soon, the blond could see that it was a short man with black hair, a handkerchief tied around his neck like an old time highwayman.

“You,” he said, pointing straight at Kurapica, “you’ll come with me.” His speech was clear but oddly lilting with an accent the blond couldn’t place.

“Why are the Spiders interested in Kurapica?” Leorio asked. He looked tense, and his reaction made Kurapica glance at him.

“Dancho wants to see him,” the short man replied, then, to Kurapica, “Come with me.”

The Kuruta slowly got to his feet. He glanced at the people around the table. They all looked tense and uncomfortable. Perhaps they all felt the same discomfort he felt around these people. This was the second Spider he met, and Kurapica couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps all of them gave off this overwhelming feeling of _wrongness_.

The young man looked Kurapica up and down, then turned away, somewhat dismissively, and started back across the cafeteria. With one last look at his new friends, Kurapica went after him.

* * *

 


	4. A Pact With Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurapica and kuroro make a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _another chapter i struggled with, but i managed to make it ok i think. my lovely beta, lea summers, has officially outdone herself; she beta'ed this within two hours of me sending it to her. thank her for the early update. i'm leaving for the weekend and wouldn't have been able to post until monday if she wasn't made of awesome._

* * *

**Chapter 4**   
**A Pact With Lucifer**

Kurapica followed the short Spider back to the Tower, his own apartment building. Some of his questions were answered when he saw the lift waiting for them at the base of the wall. Looking up, he could see the arm of a crane hovering above. That explained the vertical aura signatures going up to the roof. It was brilliant, really. Impregnable. Kuroro’s apartment was on the very top floor, overlooking the city block. All of the structures around it had at most half the number of floors that the Tower did. As the lift slowly crawled up the side of the building, the Kuruta could see, quite some distance away, the very city centre with its proper skyscrapers, and all of the shorter buildings from here to there laid out before him. If the view had once impressed his shorter companion, he didn’t show it. He didn’t pay any attention to the blond either, opting instead for glaring up at the crane as if willing it to go faster and free him of his errand boy duty. Once they were on the roof, the man led him down into the building and knocked on a door, before opening it and motioning that Kurapica was to go in.

The apartment seemed to be insanely large, even more so than his own, but he couldn’t be entirely sure, as the front door opened on a lounge absolutely overflowing with things. Tables were covered with artworks and jewellery boxes, old toys and books. Literary works were also piled up on the floor in crooked spires, some of which had clearly toppled over. Bookshelves lined the walls, but they too were filled to bursting. Some had large paintings leaning against the front, hiding the lower shelves. Here and there, a statue stood, with clothes thrown over it as if Kuroro had shed and thrown them without care as he walked through the door. The place was surprisingly dark, though Kurapica could see enough to try and pick his way through the mess.

The door closed behind him and Kurapica turned around to find that the short man had not followed him in. He had been left to wander the maze alone. Turning back towards the cluttered lounge, he heaved a sigh and picked his way carefully across the floor, heading deeper into the cavernous room. He could see that the windows were hidden behind panel blinds, sunlight spilling in through the narrow space between them, and some had bookcases in front of them. He paused near the middle of the lounge and glanced to his right, peeking down the hallway to the rest of the apartment. He wasn’t sure if he would have to wander through the entire place to find one annoying Kuroro Lucifer.

“I’m here,” a smooth voice said behind him, and Kurapica whirled on himself, heart hammering in his throat.

Kuroro was sitting in a deep red wing chair wedged between two large bookcases, dressed all in black and looking quite pleased with the useless drama of his appearance.

Kurapica huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Normally, people greet their guests at the door,” he griped because if he said anything about the state of the apartment, he’d never shut up.

“I’ve little interest in conventions,” Kuroro said, closing the book in his hand and setting it down on the side table next to his chair. How could he even have managed to read in this light? He must have been putting on a show, Kurapica decided.

The blond swept his gaze meaningfully over the mess. “Obviously.”

Kuroro’s lips twitched as if he were fighting a smile. He placed a hand on the book he’d just set down and waved Kurapica closer. The Kuruta still didn’t want to go anywhere near the older man, who still made his skin crawl. It just felt so wrong, being in the same room with him, like being in a cell with a wild animal. He took a step back, and Kuroro beckoned him closer again.

Kurapica took a deep breath and steeled himself. He had to find out about the trails, he reminded himself. He had to understand these people, these Spiders. Squaring his shoulders, he let out a slow breath and finally moved to stand in front of the Spider Head.

Kuroro reached forward, palm up, hand opened. This time, despite the feeling of _wrongness_ that crawled all over his skin like insect legs, Kurapica raised his arm and placed his hand in Kuroro’s waiting one.

The man’s cool fingers closed around it and he gently turned it over, his critical gaze studying Kurapica’s arm. The welts and scratches had healed and barely showed on his pale skin anymore. Kuroro’s other hand came up, fingertips lightly grazing the skin and Kurapica had another kind of goosebumps raise like pin pricks all over his skin. He shuddered lightly and Kuroro’s gaze left the smooth skin of his inner arm to lock onto his blue eyes.

Never looking away, he let the blond’s arm go and sat back in his chair. He studied him quietly for some time, his eyes finally leaving Kurapica’s face to observe his posture, his body language. The blond tensed even further under his scrutiny, ever so unnerved by the man before him. This was the second time Kuroro had investigated his wounds by touching him, and he still couldn’t quite get used to those cool, clinical fingers sliding over his skin.

“I’m told you’ve been requested as a scavenger,” the Spider Head said, linking his fingers together. His gaze slid away. Kurapica sucked in a sharp breath and crossed his arms before him, surreptitiously rubbing the one Kuroro had touched against his t-shirt, as if to erase the cool touch of the man’s fingertips on his skin.

“It’s been mentioned,” he hedged.

Kuroro tilted his head, lowering his hands. “I think you would be a good scavenger—the fact you’ve brought us medicine that is quite difficult to find is probably the best proof one could ask as to your resourcefulness.”

“But—?” Kurapica asked, because he could hear it in his tone.

Kuroro’s lips pulled up in a knowing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “ _But_ I think you would be much more useful to this group as one of the raiding parties.”

Kurapica knew the words _raiding_ and _parties,_ but the two didn’t make much sense together. They evoked stories of Viking invasions and warfare tactics. “Are there other human settlements around?” he asked carefully.

Kuroro waved an elegant hand, as if dismissing the question. “That isn’t the sort of raid I’m talking about,” he assured the blond. “We mostly raid this city, and not so much for spoils of war.”

“What are your objectives, then?” Kurapica wanted to know.

“Have you ever heard the idiom, _offence is the best defence_?” the Spider Head asked him.

“Offence,” Kurapica repeated. “You mean to attack those—those things?”

“The monsters, yes,” Kuroro agreed. He crossed one leg elegantly over the other. “I would like to request your assistance.”

“You want my help killing a bunch of amblers out in the city,” Kurapica said slowly, needing confirmation, because he couldn’t quite believe his ears.

“Amblers?” Kuroro asked, cocking his head to the side.

“The slow ones,” Kurapica explained, using Kuroro’s own words. “Zombies. Ghouls? Those ill or undead ones who go around very slowly, stumbling around.”

“That’s an interesting name,” Kuroro commented. “Very simple, yet descriptive.”

“I didn’t come up with it,” Kurapica quickly defended. “You’re not the first humans I’ve come across.”

“Humans,” Kuroro echoed. He had a strange sort of smile on his pale face and he brought his thumb to his lower lip, sliding it sideways over the soft looking skin. Kurapica watched it for a few seconds, then resolutely moved his gaze back up to meet his dark eyes. “And you, Kurapica,” he asked softly, “are _you_ human?”

The blond huffed and tossed his head derisively. “No, I’m a ghoul,” he snarked. “Or maybe a forest sprite.”

The sass seemed to amuse Kuroro, whose smile widened. “Very well, forest sprite,” he said, “we all have our secrets. You can’t fault me for wondering. A decade ago, monsters and ghouls were the stuff of legends. One cannot help but wonder what other mythological beings might also exist.”

“And what sort of creature are you?” Kurapica sent back.

“Me?” Kuroro asked pleasantly. “I’m a Spider.”

“What mythology are human Spiders from?” the blond shot back. “I’d never heard of them before arriving here.”

“If I find out,” Kuroro said, “I’ll let you know.”

The comment confused Kurapica, who had half expected Greek mythology and Arachne to come up, but he didn’t pry further, returning instead to the negotiation in progress. “You mentioned needing my help?”

“ _Wanting_ your help,” Kuroro corrected. At Kurapica’s pinched expression, he insisted, “There’s a difference between wanting and needing. I want your cooperation, but I don’t need it.”

“Why ask me then?” Kurapica asked. “I’ve already paid my dues.”

“And you’re free to refuse to participate,” Kuroro assured him.

“So you expect me to go out there and—what—fight off a mob of amblers just for the fun of it?”

“I do not know many who find hunting the things _fun_ ,” Kuroro pointed out, “but essentially, I’m requesting your support because I believe that you are able to take them on.”

“My support,” Kurapica repeated. “I wouldn’t be going alone.”

“Alone against a band of those undead creatures?” Kuroro asked. “I would not expect that from anyone but a Spider. No, we’ll be going as a group.”

“ _We?”_ Kurapica asked in turn. “Who would be coming?”

“I would,” Kuroro said, “and whomever of my Spiders feel like having a bit of sport.”

“Sport,” Kurapica echoed again. He felt like a parrot. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

Kuroro arched his eyebrows and smiled, but didn’t respond. Instead, he asked the blond, “Are you in?”

Kurapica let out a huff of annoyance and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You’re asking me if I want to go hunt down some undead with you for the sport of it? For the good of the camp?”

“Whichever you want it to be,” the Spider Head answered.

“I’m asking for _your_ reasons,” the blond said.

Kuroro kept looking at him with a dark, heavy gaze that made something strange twist inside of the blond. Kurapica was the first to look away. He held his arms close in front of his chest and glanced back towards the covered windows, but there was nothing (or too many things) to arrest his gaze.

“Well, forest sprite,” Kuroro finally said, “let’s say that I want to test your abilities while insuring myself that no undue harm comes to you. I will be with you the entire time, observing and stepping in as needed.”

Kurapica digested that quietly for a moment. “Why do you need to test my skills?” he asked, meeting Kuroro’s gaze once more. “I’m not staying. I’m only here to rest and recharge. I’ll be gone as soon as I feel ready. I don’t expect to be here for more than a month.”

“You seem pretty certain about leaving,” Kuroro commented.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kurapica asked, feeling increasingly defensive.

“It’s just an observation,” Kuroro assured him, spreading his hands reassuringly. “No one intends to keep you here if you want to leave. I’m merely curious about why you are so insistent on leaving a place that is as safe as we can make it.”

Kurapica was silent for some time. It was his turn to study the man before him. He started with the ridiculously slicked back hair, to those large, dark eyes, the small nose, thin mouth, long neck and needlessly edgy top (was that _leather?_ ). The man’s trousers weren’t much better than his shirt—leather or a synthetic fabric, with large, lighter bands. At least the blond could find a purpose for the clunky boots, but the rest was all so horribly, pointlessly dramatic.

Kuroro was still waiting for an answer, and Kurapica met his eyes again. If the man was feeling impatient with the delay, there was no sign of it.

“There are things I want to do,” Kurapica finally said. “Things that I can’t do here.”

Kuroro accepted that with a nod. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, then tapped his fingertips together. He was silent a moment.

“Perhaps we can help each other,” he said at length. “If you help me here, I can help you do whatever would ease your way when you leave. I won’t even ask what your quest is, but I’ll do what’s in my power to help regardless. On one condition.”

“Another condition aside from helping you?” the blond asked.

“Yes,” Kuroro sat back in his chair again, this time lifting a leg to rest an ankle on the opposite knee. He tapped the leg with his fingers, like one would play the piano. “I want you to take off your clothes.”

Kurapica froze a moment, then felt heat in his cheeks and under his ribs. “What.” He didn’t even manage to make it a question.

Kuroro’s eyes blinked slowly, then he arched his eyebrows. “I didn’t meant anything by this,” he assured him. “I mean to verify that you don’t have a tattoo. If you do not, then I will help you. You may keep your underwear. They do not mark such personal areas.”

“ _They?”_ Kurapica asked, curiosity piqued.

Kuroro stared at him quietly for some time. “I am unwilling to divulge more at the moment,” he finally said. “Will you strip?”

Kurapica thought about it. There was no shame in it maybe, but the thought of being mostly naked while this man studied him with his unnervingly calm gaze was near unbearable.

“Not at this time,” he finally decided. “I need to think about this. I’ve given you some of my medication to pay for my stay. I don’t know that I’ll ever need your help, but I’m willing to think about your conditions at least.”

Kuroro accepted that with a slow nod. “Very well. Should you make up your mind, hang something red out of your window; it will alert me that you need to talk with me.”

It was a weird way to communicate, when they both lived in such proximity, but Kurapica nodded. “Got it.”

“I’ll have someone take you down,” Kuroro said, slowly getting to his feet. After ushering Kurapica out of his apartment, he got one of his Spiders, a woman Kurapica hadn’t seen before, to get the blond back to ground level. Kurapica frowned at the woman’s back as they walked back out to the roof so he could get to the lift, still unsettled by these Spiders in a way that he couldn’t quite explain. They just felt wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

The proposition from the Spider Head was still absolutely insane, even after thinking it over.

Kurapica had no intention of putting himself at risk. He’s already survived one close call and by some miracle, he’d come out unscathed. He wasn’t about to test his luck. Scavenging by avoiding amblers was one thing. A full on attack, seeking the creatures out, was entirely out of the question. He would stay in the camp and observe, learn what he could about the mysterious Spiders who seemed to be some sort of creepy elite, then leave as soon as he figured out how they emitted those aura trails.

That was the plan. It was the plan, but as one day led to another, and to another and yet another, there was no sign of any of the creepy people anywhere around the camp. They didn’t come for meals, didn’t participate in game nights with the rest of the survivors holed up within the protection of the walls and fences. His new friends had grilled Kurapica about what the Spider Head had wanted, but the blond had remained evasive until a few days had passed.

He asked about the Spiders then, specifically about why they didn’t mingle with the other survivors.

“They’re not like us,” Leorio said. “They’re… different. I don’t know. They just stay holed up in the Tower unless they’re going for a raid, or the camp is threatened in some way. They’re creepy as fuck, so I don’t mind them staying away, honestly.”

“They’re creepy, yeah,” Killua agreed. “They’re super strong though. They could probably wipe out all the zombies in the country if they wanted to. But they don’t care about shit. They probably only protect the camp because it’s their home, too.”

“It was their home first,” Leorio commented. “People started gathering around here because it was the safest place to be. Here with the creepos.”

“They’re not very friendly,” Gon said, “but they still protect people.”

“I think they just protect their territory,” Leorio added.

“So they never come down?” Kurapica wanted to know.

“Not unless they have to,” Leorio answered and the other two nodded.

Later, talking with Senritsu gave him the same sort of answers. She actually made a point to meet with the Spiders when they returned from a raid, just to get an idea of what was happening outside of the camp. “I have no means of getting up to the top of the Tower myself,” she explained, “and they wouldn’t come back down just to talk with me, so I have to basically ambush them when they return. They are strange people, but they do keep us safe.”

And that was why, one frustrating week after he’d been let out of quarantine, having received no answer or even a hint as to why there were Kuruta auras around (presumably) normal humans, Kurapica finally gave in. He found a red apron left by the previous occupants of his residence, and hung it outside of a window. He’d get nowhere just sitting on his ass, cleaning his apartment and hanging out with his new friends. He had to understand the Spiders, and for that, he would need to interact with them.

Even if, as Leorio had said, they were creepy _as fuck_.

Still, nothing happened. Not that day, nor the next, and Kurapica was starting to wonder if perhaps his red flag was simply not visible enough. He’d wait another day, he decided, then decide what to do from there.

Kurapica awoke the next morning to a loud knock on his front door. He groaned and glanced at the window to get an idea of the time. The sky was blue, but clouds showed colours from a sunrise that he couldn’t see from his bed. It had to be very early.

With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and pulled on a pair of jeans. He grabbed a t-shirt and slipped it on while making his way to the door. The knock came again, so he called “coming,” the sound somewhat muffled by his shirt. He pulled it down over his chest, then unlocked and pulled the door open.

Kuroro was standing on the other side and he gave the blond a once over, then held up a travel mug. “You drink coffee?” he asked him.

Kurapica snatched the mug from his hand and took a sip. He grimaced, then drank more of the dark liquid.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kuroro said, sounding amused. “I didn’t know what you’d want in it.”

He held up small packets of sugar and one Kurapica didn’t recognize and turned out to be a single serving of creamer. He took it from Kuroro’s hand and opened the door wider, inviting him inside.

He took the mug to the counter separating the kitchen area from the rest of the room. He unscrewed the lid off the travel mug and poured the creamer in. Behind him, he heard Kuroro step in and close the door.

“What do I have to do to get coffee to make at home?” the blond asked as he screwed the lid back on and took another sip.

“I can give you some of mine,” Kuroro said, “provided you bring me more if you go scavenging in town.”

“Sounds fair,” Kurapica agreed, because the one thing he’d missed the most on the road had been this. “Would you happen to have tea as well?”

“I’m not much of a tea drinker,” Kuroro said and the blond turned around because the voice came from much closer than Kurapica had expected. “I’ll ask Paku. She might have some.”

Kurapica was suddenly aware that he’d just invited a Spider into his temporary home. He’d been too focused on the coffee, too easily bought. He frowned at the older man.

Kuroro studied him quietly, then said, “A group of the monsters have passed the Midtown bridge. Are you in?”

Kurapica sipped at his coffee, then nodded. He lifted his cup. “How could I refuse?” he asked with a light snort of amusement.

Kuroro arched his eyebrows. “If I’d known how easy it is to sway you, I would have brought you coffee your first night in town.”

“If I’d known you have a personal stash of the stuff,” Kurapica countered, “I would have asked you for some before you’d even introduced yourself.”

Kuroro laughed, soft huffs of air that were barely audible. He smiled and Kurapica stared a little, watching years melt off of the man’s face. He suddenly looked closer to Kurapica’s age. He nearly asked him, but decided against it. No matter how old Kuroro was, he still made the blond uncomfortable, though the sensation was pretty muted at the moment. It was probably just the coffee helping make Kuroro’s presence more palatable.

“Do you have weapons?” Kuroro asked, turning serious once more, though he looked less intense than usual. Kurapica wasn’t sure what made it seem this way. Perhaps his shoulders were less tense, or his face more expressive. He wondered how much of what the man did and said was posturing.

“I have knives,” Kurapica said. “And I found a gun, in the last house I broke in before arriving here, but—” He trailed off.

“Guns are no good,” Kuroro agreed with a nod. “We can use them to defend the camp but out there—”

“—It would simply draw more amblers to where we’re fighting,” Kurapica finished. “I only took it as a very last resort.”

“You’re much better off with the knives,” Kuroro agreed. “You know how to use them?”

“Stab just below the base of the skull to sever the spinal cord,” Kurapica answered. “Whether dead or alive, they can’t keep attacking you if they can’t move.” There was a strange light in Kuroro’s eyes, something like approval. Kurapica looked away. “When are we leaving?”

“Now, if you’re good,” Kuroro said.

“I’ll get my knives,” Kurapica agreed, leaving his coffee on the counter.

He went back to his room and grabbed his belt with the sheathes. He strapped it around his hips and tightened it, then made his way back to the lounge.

Kuroro studied him, then the knives at his sides. The approving nod he got made Kurapica turn to his mug. He grabbed it, then the set of keys from the table near the door. “Let’s go,” he said, more unsettled than he cared to admit even to himself.

Kuroro preceded him out of the apartment and watched him lock up. They took the stairs down to the ground level. There were a few people standing in the lobby of the building. Alarm bells rang in Kurapica’s mind and he stopped dead, though there should be nothing alarming about the small gathering of clearly uninfected humans before him.

“Dancho’s here,” one of them said, and the small group turned towards them.

Kuroro pointed to the people in turn. “Nobunaga, Phinks, Feitan, Ubougin,” he introduced.

Kurapica only recognized Feitan as the short man who’d led him to Kuroro’s apartment the previous evening. He nodded at the man, who gave him a once over and turned away. Charming people.

“Kurapica’s joining us today,” Kuroro told the group. “I want to see him in action. I’m going to stay with him. The goal is to eradicate the group of monsters. We’ll just make a small detour by the school for breakfast.”

They all nodded and stepped behind their leader. Kurapica hesitated for only a second before following them. He quickly triggered his Scarlet Eyes, only long enough to confirm that these people, these Spiders, all did leave that trail he’d spent months looking for. Each and every one of them.

Kurapica didn’t know what it meant.

They walked the few blocks separating them from the school and made their way to the cafeteria. There were a few people setting up the food counter. They froze when they saw who they had coming into the cafeteria. Kuroro made his way to the closest person who had been setting up the counter and pleasantly asked if they could have some sandwiches to go. The man hurried back to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, they were headed out again, egg sandwiches in hand. The Spiders were mostly ignoring Kurapica, although one of the tall ones—Nobunaga, if Kurapica remembered well—kept throwing him dirty glances.

Kurapica ignored them in turn, even though their mere presence set him on edge. It wasn’t even that they _did_ anything unnerving. It was as if their very existence was _wrong_.

They headed to a gate on the other side of the camp from where he’d arrived a few weeks prior. Here too, the gate—if one could call it that—was held in place with a car. They waited while the people watching the fortifications put the SUV in neutral and pushed it out of the way.

Outside of the camp, Kurapica expected them to grow tense and watchful, but the Spiders kept walking with no change in demeanour. They weren’t rowdy or anything—actually, they barely even spoke to one another. They didn’t seem to be on bad terms, really. They weren’t avoiding talking, they just seemed like a group of people with nothing to even discuss together, like they had nothing in common at all.

They walked for some time, perhaps an hour, perhaps more. They didn’t hear anything around them, the city deathly quiet. The streets should have been crawling with undead, but they were empty. Kurapica thought that it was probably due to these unnerving people that he was walking with. How many of these little outings had the Spiders made?

As they walked down a wide boulevard, they started hearing loud, horrible shrieks. Kuroro paused, tilting his head to one side, holding a hand up to halt their walk. The Spiders stopped immediately and held still. Kurapica took a second to notice and stopped as well.

Kuroro glanced back at him and motioned for him to come closer. The other Spiders looked at him as he made his way to the front of the group, heightening his sense of unease. As if being alone with a group of people he could barely tolerate wasn’t already bad enough.

Kuroro put a hand on his shoulder, sending an odd shiver down Kurapica’s spine. “Stay close to me,” the Spider Head said. Then he turned to his Spiders and motioned. Two fingers flicked to the right and two of them—Phinks and Feitan—slinked into a side street, silent as shadows. Two fingers, left. Nobunaga and Ubogin left as well. That left Kuroro and Kurapica to continue forward down the boulevard.

“How will we know if your friends find them?” the blond asked, voice hushed.

“Friends?” Kuroro asked, then he shrugged. “We’ll know,” he assured the Kuruta. “The question is more whether or not we’ll have any monsters left to test your skills.”

“Are they really that strong?” Kurapica wanted to know.

Kuroro gave him a strange smile and didn’t answer. He led Kurapica down the large road, walking slowly down the middle of the street, not bothering to hide. His confidence would be impressive, if Kurapica wasn’t so convinced that it would get them both killed.

They could still hear shrieks in the distance. The sound was high-pitched and raspy. “Sounds like a screamer,” Kurapica murmured. “That means a mob. When you said a group of them were around here, just how big a group were you talking about?”

“A few scores,” Kuroro answered, still walking forwards, even as Kurapica stopped dead in his tracks.

“Scores,” the blond gasped. His voice was strangled by the sudden anxiety that gripped him.

Kuroro finally stopped and turned to face him. “There is nothing to fear,” he assured the blond. “In any case, I will be with you.”

“You expect me to fight forty amblers with a shrieker, all striving to eat my flesh?” Kurapica asked.

“More like sixty,” Kuroro said with a nod. “You’ll be perfectly fine.”

“What if I get bitten?” Kurapica insisted. “What if I start to turn?”

Kuroro fixed him with a hard gaze. “You will be perfectly fine,” he repeated. “I will stay with you until each and every single monster this side of the bridge lays dead at our feet.”

Some of his quiet confidence settled Kurapica’s fears. It didn’t allay them entirely, but he was willing to at least try this. One thing he knew for sure, he was resourceful and obstinate. He was not about to let some stupid living dead eat him for lunch. He was going to find his people. He was not going to die today. He was going to fight with these people, and he was going to survive, even if he had to leave them to the hordes of undead and escape alone. He owed them nothing. If they were foolish enough to attack such a large group without the skills necessary to survive the encounter, that was on them.

He set his jaw, stared resolutely ahead, and joined Kuroro Lucifer. Together, they walked towards the sounds from the undead mob.

* * *

 

 


	5. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wiping out a group of zombies did come with risk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i collect burnouts like one collects stamps. i've written nothing at all since my last chapter. a special thank you from the bottom of my heart to my friends[gold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinsdura/pseuds/Kinsdura) and [lyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynffles/pseuds/Lynffles) for helping me fix the rought first draft of this, and [piyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piyo_nii/pseuds/piyo_nii) for cheering me on. i pretty much listened to [bad wolves's cover of zombie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XaS93WMRQQ) on repeat for this, as it was on my playlist and came up randomly while writing the fight, and welp.... i just started putting it back on and on again._

* * *

 

**Chapter 5**   
**The promise**

“Sixty-three,” Kuroro counted, “sixty-four. Plus the one in front, that makes sixty-five.”

He looked incredibly pleased, and it made Kurapica want to punch him. “Sixty-four amblers and a screamer,” he repeated, tone flat. “You expect me to defeat all of them?”

He gazed out towards the monsters, eyeing them warily from where he and Kuroro stood on the roof of a three-story building. The undead had not seen or sensed their presence yet, still a little over a block or so away from their precarious perch on the very edge of a gently sloping roof. The man-creature at the front of the group let out a wail again, but its throat must have been damaged, because it was fainter, breathier. Maybe its vocal cords couldn’t sustain the constant screams.

Kuroro turned towards the blond and studied him for a moment. “You’re scared,” he finally observed.

Kurapica scoffed lightly. “What do you expect?” he asked him. “Sixty-five monsters to fight and defeat as they try to bite and eat me?”

The older man hummed softly, his dark eyes fixed on Kurapica for a beat too long for it to be comfortable. “What if there were forty of them?” he wanted to know. “Or twenty?”

“They could still bite me.”

Kuroro cocked his head to the side. He was silent for a few seconds. “What if these monsters were humans, would you then be able to beat them?”

Kurapica marked a slight pause, clenching and unclenching his hands. “Yes.” He grit his teeth in frustration and took a deep breath to keep himself calm before he continued. “Especially if they weren’t trained fighters.”

There was another moment of silence, as if Kuroro were turning over something in his mind, or maybe he was just assessing the Kuruta. “Easily?” he asked when he spoke again.

“Relatively,” Kurapica said with a slight frown. He pursed his lips. Kuroro looked at him, likely waiting for the reason for which Kurapica hadn’t been more affirmative in his answer. “I would have to be fast,” the blond explained, “and hit them before they knew I was there at all.”

“So,” Kuroro said, infuriatingly slow, “what is preventing you from doing the same to these things?”

Kurapica stared at him, making sure the disbelief was plain as day on his face. “One bite, one scratch, and I might become like them!” he pointed out. “Unfeeling, unthinking, just—just ambling around, attacking —whatever. I mean, are they alive? Are they dead? Can they—can they see themselves—see themselves rip the bodies open? Eating them?” He shuddered at the thought. “Are they sort of—just sort of locked somewhere in there, seeing all this? I’d rather die than—than be _that_.”

Kuroro met his gaze head on. He stared at him for another few beats of silence, and Kurapica couldn’t help thinking that it was creepy, the way the older man just stared, silent and thoughtful. Finally, the Spider Head put a hand on his shoulder, and the blond had to repress another shudder. There was something about him that kept making Kurapica uncomfortable, though he still couldn’t quite explain it. It wasn’t just his demeanour or his words. It was as if the very air around him vibrated at an unnerving frequency that set Kurapica on edge.

“We won’t let it get to that,” the older man said. He slid his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket (the coat really didn’t fit the rest of his ensemble, Kurapica couldn’t help but notice). “Put it out of your mind. Treat them as if they were human. If you’re too careful of them, of their teeth, you’ll make a mistake. Look at them.”

“I see them!” Kurapica huffed.

“No,” Kuroro countered. His fingers found Kurapica’s chin and he gently but firmly turned his head back towards the group of undead shuffling towards them down the street. “ _Look at them_. You could defeat them as humans, and yet these monsters are perhaps a third of the speed and less than a tenth of the intelligence of their human counterparts. You said you would have to be fast, to hit before they realize you’re even there. Now you have three times the length of time you would have with live subjects. What have you to fear?”

“Humans don’t usually bite,” Kurapica pointed out, “they don’t risk turning you into _that_.”

“Then don’t let them,” Kuroro said.

Kurapica scoffed lightly, shrugging off one hand and twisting his head away out of the other. He turned from the older man and wrapped his arms around his ribs, squeezing in tight. He eyed the group again, then took a deep breath in and slowly let it go. “Fast,” he said, more to himself than to Kuroro, “hit them before they even know I’m there.”

“Exactly,” Kuroro said. “They’re just slow, ambling fools.”

Kurapica let his arms fall back to his side and took a deep breath again. He loosened his daggers in their sheaths, making sure they’d slide easily out, then rolled his shoulders. He was still anxious, still irritated, still wondering why Kuroro had obviously singled him out from the moment he’d entered the camp. Was it simply because of the scratches that had marred his arms when he’d arrived? There had to be more to this than simple curiosity. Was he as aware of him as Kurapica was of the Spiders? Could he somehow see the trails Kurapica left behind just as the Kuruta could see his? So many questions, ones he could not ask yet.

“Just promise me one thing,” he told the man without looking at him. Kuroro made a soft questioning sound and the blond took another steadying breath. “Whatever happens, don’t let me become one of them.”

He felt the weight of the Spider’s gaze on the side of his face, but didn’t look away from the monsters to return it.

“I promise,” Kuroro said, voice solemn.

Kurapica nodded.

He heard two faint clicks, and Kuroro slid his hand out of the jacket. “Twenty,” he said. “Give or take.”

The blond turned his head slightly towards the older man, but before he could ask what he meant, there was the shrill sound of a whistle somewhere to their right, then again to their left. Kurapica opened his mouth to ask what was happening, when he noticed the throng of undead wavering and turned his head back to observe them. Some took stumbling steps towards the sounds. The creature leading them wailed again, a broken sound. The undead wavered.

The whistles went off again and again, and slowly, stumblingly, the mass of creatures started spreading, walking towards the different sounds. Some were still following the screamer, but they were fewer now. Some of the monsters started heading back and to the sides, to lose themselves into alleyways and dead-ends. Some would likely end up at the feet of the Spiders who had left the camp with them.

In a way, it was brilliant. “Divide and conquer,” he murmured. He glanced at the older man and found him gazing at him with approval, a slight smile on his face. Kurapica turned away.

It was now or never.

Kurapica had to get down now so he hit the ground before the things could see him and attack him—getting swamped whilst suspended halfway down the side of a brick wall would spell his certain death, after all—so he swallowed down his unease, shoved it down deep. He turned his back to the drop and started climbing down with practised ease, finding purchase with the tip of his runners, then his fingers as he inched down the wall. He only looked back up once, and found Kuroro staring at him from above, then he turned his attention resolutely back to the task at hand. His feet found the pavement without a single misstep.

Carefully, he made his way around a corner, put his back to the wall, listening intently to the shuffling sounds and moans of the approaching amblers. There was that high-pitched but faint wail again from the screamer at the front of the group, then again, closer, breathy and scratchy, barely even a scream anymore.

Kurapica tightened his grip on the hilts of his daggers and forced his heart to calm its erratic beating. He studied the small alley he was hiding in, spotting a few crates and a low wall he could use to jump out of reach or to slow down the amblers if they came after him. _When_ they came after him. Gods, he really was doing this.

“Humans,” he whispered to himself. “Very slow and dumb humans.”

He wet his lips and took a deep breath in. The raspy sound came again, closer, so much closer than Kurapica had expected. He swallowed and finally pulled out his knives.

 _Only draw your weapons if you’re ready to use them,_ came his mother’s remonstrance, the memory of the words vivid and sharp, but the beloved voice fainter than he liked.

 _I intend to use them, mother,_ he thought to the memory. _I’ll survive this, and I’ll find you._

His fingers tightened their grip on his weapons, and he lowered his stance, ready to pounce into action. The screamer appeared at the edge of the building, stumbling on a twisted foot, perhaps a metre from the building against which Kurapica was hiding. It let out another broken wail and Kurapica jumped out of the shadows. He bowled one creature aside as it stumbled between him and his target. The screamer had to go first so it didn’t attract more undead to the area, and even though they would more likely go after the whistles, he wasn’t going to take the chance. He reached the screamer, which had not quite reacted to the attack.

_One third of the speed and less than a tenth of the intelligence of their human counterparts._

He shoved the creature’s shoulder, forcing it to turn its back to him and slammed one of his knives into his spine. The creature seized, but Kurapica managed to wrench his dagger free. He turned on himself and flipped the weapon to have a better downward thrust as he stabbed the monster he’d shoved earlier in the back of the neck, then kicked it back to slow a few other zombies that were slowly reaching for him with outstretched arms and crooked fingers.

One came towards his side and reached for his shoulder and Kurapica took a step back. With his left hand, he stabbed at its neck from the front, then slashed the knife hard, decapitating the thing. He closed his lips tight, mindful of potential blood spray, but there was nearly nothing spilling from the wound. The blood he could see was dark and sluggish. Dead. Small favour; they probably were not aware of what they had become.

He managed to down two more of the undead, but they were reacting to him now, reaching for him with hungry moans.  He jumped back, then turned and jogged into the alley he’d sprung out from. He faced the road again, watching as three of the creatures stumbled after him. They couldn’t encircle him here. It was a little more difficult to manoeuvre, but he grabbed a broken crate, sent it at a zombie’s head, then jumped on another one and kicked the monster’s head down to expose its spine. A stab later, it went down and Kurapica did the same to the thing next to it.

There was no thinking anymore, he just jumped and kicked and stabbed. Five, six, seven down. One crashed into the crate he was standing on. The rotting wood wobbled and broke enough that it became too unstable to fight on. Kurapica turned and scrambled up the low wall as the things tried to grasp at him. They were too slow. Eight, nine, ten, eleven down. His arms were getting sore. It had been too long since he’d stretched and trained. One managed to grab his ankle and pulled at it, trying to bring it to its mouth. Kurapica wobbled on the narrow wall. He lost his footing and nearly fell off. His body slammed into the building next to him, and he used the facade to right himself up.

He lost his mental footing a little with the close call, and he stabbed and slashed wildly for a minute or two, before he managed to calm himself and start methodically putting the things down once more. Was this fifteen? Thirteen? He didn’t know. He’d lost count. He thought he could hear the whistles coming closer, the others probably slowly making their way towards them, mowing down whatever monsters they encountered.

There were only three more undead in the alley that he could see. One was stuck partly in the broken crate Kurapica had stood on before, but the other two were trying to get over that one to get to the Kuruta. Kurapica jumped down from the wall and went straight for them, then jumped to the side. As they stared blankly at where he’d been, confused, he made quick work of dispatching them both, then finally finished off the one who was stuck in the crate.

He stood, panting, all of the creatures down at his feet, finally no longer hungry. He’d done it. He hadn’t gotten one single scratch on him. He felt his heart swell with pride, with hope, with slightly hysterical joy as his mind screamed, _I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m_ _ **alive!**_

Giddy, he tilted his head up to where he could see Kuroro’s dark form outlined against the cloudless sky. He stared up at him, eyes wide, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin, making his fingertips all tingly. He wiped his brow with the back of one hand and slid his daggers back into their sheaths. Kuroro wasn’t smiling, but his gaze was intense, making Kurapica feel a little cornered, like he was being stared down by a strange, dark creature, an unknown entity that he couldn’t quite figure out. He felt pinned under that dark gaze, until the older man finally turned away to start his descent from the roof.

Kurapica watched him climb down, slower than the Kuruta had been. Well, Kurapica had had a lot of practice, climbing up and down trees and a few cliffs to the east of his home village. Kuroro was obviously in great shape, but he didn’t seem like he had much practice scaling up and down things. His progress was sure but slow, and Kurapica huffed impatiently. Excitement from the fight was making him restless. He wanted to jump, wanted to run, wanted to laugh, he didn’t know, he felt too many things all at once.

He heard the groan too late.

Whirling on himself, he brought a hand up to fend off whatever was coming, his left hand already grabbing the hilt of a knife. The ghoul grabbed his wrist with both hands and brought it to its mouth. Kurapica froze, choking on a scream as its teeth bit down on the edge of his palm. He brought up his knife and started stabbing at it, getting it multiple times in the shoulder, the wounds deep but ultimately useless.

He heard a thump as Kuroro jumped the rest of the way down, and, nearly too fast to see, he wrenched the thing away. A moment later, it was crumpling to the ground, nearly wrenching Kurapica’s arm from its socket as it was still holding onto his wrist with a literal death grip. Kurapica managed to free himself and brought his palm to his face, the earlier elation and giddiness replaced by absolute terror and panic.

It hurt, it hurt, was the skin okay, the skin had to be okay, right, it would be fine if the skin wasn’t broken, he wasn’t bleeding was he, what if it had broken the skin, he would be cursed to undeath, gods, he couldn’t—he couldn’t become one of those things, he couldn’t, he didn’t want, there was no way that he could, how had he let this happen, he knew better, he knew better, he knew better, he should never have let his guards down, he _knew better_ , damn it, damn it all, was it bleeding, he couldn’t become a thing, he just—

“Kurapica,” Kuroro’s voice was maddeningly calm, “Kurapica, _breathe_.”

Kurapica took in a large gulp of air. His vision was swimming, he couldn’t see, couldn’t focus, couldn’t—

Red. Red blood. He felt a few drops slide lazily down to his wrists and made a panicked sound. “It bit—there’s blood—I’m—No…. No!”

Both of his shoulders were grabbed in strong hands and a shudder went through him as that intense feeling of wrong, wrong, _wrong_ went through him like a bolt of lightning, made worse by his panic. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted, pulling out of his grasp. From not being able to breathe, he started breathing too fast, too much, too—

“Kurapica you’re hyperventilating.”

“Shut up,” the blond gasped, “I’m not—not yet.” From panic, irritation surged, and in a way, it was helpful. His hand grabbed Kuroro’s stupid jacket and twisted. “I fucking hate you,” he growled, hand shaking a little, but with anger rather than terror.

“I imagine you do,” Kuroro said, his tone still ridiculously kind and gentle. Kurapica wanted to smash his fist in that stupid fucking attractive face, break a few teeth loose and mess up his perfect fucking smile. “Let me see your hand,” the man continued. “I need to bandage it.”

“How will _that_ help?!” Kurapica demanded. “It’s not like I’m going to be needing it! Hell, it might help the living if I’m already injured before I—gods!”

Kuroro held his hand demandingly at him and the urge to hit him was still very much present in Kurapica’s mind, but he made a rude noise, shook him once and let go of his jacket, then put his hand in Kuroro’s waiting one. He was shaking, but he wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger anymore. He just felt—too much, too many things. The older man’s fingers clasped his and he held his hand up, turning it this way and that. He slid his other hand in his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. Kurapica could feel hysterical laughter bubbling under his ribs at the ridiculous uselessness of it all. Kuroro let go of his fingers so he could unfold the piece of black cotton—of course it was black. Kurapica’s attention focused on that detail and it made him want to laugh, want to scream, want to hit something, all because of the stupid colour of a stupid handkerchief. He was losing it. The older man wrapped the soft fabric carefully around Kurapica’s palm and secured it with a knot.

“What’s the point,” Kurapica managed to say. “That’s not going to stop a disease that’s already in my blood from making me—”

“It may not be,” Kuroro interrupted. “And it would be ridiculous to avoid the plague, only to be killed by a simple infection from an untreated wound.”

“I hate you,” Kurapica said again, on the edge of a laugh, of a sob, of a scream.

“Hate me,” Kuroro said, still so fucking gently, “Hate me, but walk with me.”

The request was so ridiculous that it finally wrenched a miserable laugh from the Kuruta. He snatched his hand back. “ _Walk with you?”_ he asked, his voice rising in pitch in his disbelief. “Where the _fuck_ would we even go?” Kuroro arched an eyebrow and the curse and it made the blond laugh again, the sound ending on a terrified hiccup. “I was _bitten_ , Kuroro, not mugged. You can’t bring me back to camp! What if—I’m a danger to all of you!”

“You’re of no danger to me,” Kuroro said, his gaze firm and unwavering on Kurapica’s face, “or my Spiders. But since you’re asking, I’m putting you back into quarantine, for everyone’s protection. I _am_ taking you back to camp, however, no matter what you say.” He took Kurapica’s arm and pulled him. “Walk with me.”

Kurapica wrenched his arm out of his hand. “I can walk unaided,” he hissed. “It bit my hand, not my leg.”

“Then walk,” the Spider Head said, his arm motioning forward. Kurapica huffed angrily and stared him down for a moment. There were so many more things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t put the words together, and the man was just standing there, just waiting and—

He turned and stalked back towards the camp. His anger nearly drowned out the fear, and he cursed the man under his breath. A few blocks down, two of the Spiders joined them, then a little further on, the remaining members of their stupid _raiding party_ fell into step with them. Kurapica ignored their presence, focused on just putting one foot in front of the other, focused on not breaking down, on keeping himself from running, from screaming, from stabbing Kuroro in his stupid fucking face.

“What’s up with _him?_ ” one of them asked, Kurapica didn’t care which.

“Bitten,” came Kuroro’s response.

“Ah,” the other man said. “Sure didn’t fix his attitude.”

Kurapica wanted to punch him too. What did they think this bite was? This was a little more than getting your fingers pinched in a door. He wanted to whirl on them and curse them all to hell, but if he started screaming, even in anger, then he would never ever stop. Maybe that’s how screamers were formed. Maybe they’d started screaming when they realized they were infected and then just didn’t ever stop, their brain stuck in a loop as the disease took over their bodies. Maybe he’d become one.

He felt cold dread settle in his guts and started walking faster. The men with him didn’t say another word, but matched his pace. If the walk out of the camp earlier had been uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to now. He wanted to feel safe, to feel home, but he didn’t have a home anymore. The apartment he’d left behind didn’t count. His home had burned down to the ground and he would never see it again. He held his arms close to his chest, hugging himself desperately, trying to walk as fast as he could. He just wanted—needed—

He didn’t even know anymore.

They made it back to camp before the panic managed to overwhelm the blond again, but the wait as the survivors rolled the car holding the barrier up out of the way so they could come in was unbearable.

By the time they walked into the compound, Kurapica’s breathing had become uneven again. Kuroro tugged on the sleeve of his t-shirt and guided him through the streets of the camp. They were a few blocks in when Kurapica realized that the others were no longer following, but he couldn’t tell exactly when their path had diverged. His head felt like it was filled with static, or maybe there was that high-pitched sound some televisions gave now that there were no channels for news anymore anywhere. He barely recognized his surroundings, until Kuroro pulled him into the atrium of the first building he’d been housed it, and the pawn shop that served as quarantine.

One of the others must have alerted Senritsu, because the young woman was waiting by the door to the shop, keys in hand. His eyes showed her concern and worry as she gazed on his face. She didn’t say anything, just turned from him and opened the door. Kurapica walked in.

“What happened?” the woman’s soft voice finally asked. “Kuroro—”

“Not now,” the Spider Head told her, his tone calm, decisive. “I’ll give you the usual rundown, but not now. I’m not leaving him alone. I’ll find you tomorrow.”

She made a soft sound, and Kurapica turned to see Kuroro entering the room and closing the door behind him. He caught a glimpse of Senritsu’s expression before it clanged shut, and it looked sad and worried. A moment later, the key turned in the lock, then her footsteps retreated, nearly silent on the polished floor.

“You shouldn’t be in here with me,” Kurapica said. “It’s too dangerous; you shouldn’t be in here.”

“I’m not leaving,” the older man informed him, taking a step closer.

“I could infect you,” Kurapica warned, hugging himself closer, like he wanted to pull his ribs in to crush his own lungs. He felt so cold, so desperately cold despite the hot summer day. “You should leave, you should go.”

“I’m staying right here,” Kuroro insisted.

He had to have a screw loose or something, because _here_ was definitely not safe. Oh gods, he was going to turn, he was going to turn into a mindless ghoul, all because this _idiot_ had no concept of safety whatsoever, and now he was going to start going raving mad and he’d probably bite the moron, or maybe he’d end up eating him; Kurapica didn’t know how it was all decided, how some people became infected while others were simply cannibalized and oh gods, what if Kurapica ended up _eating someone_ —

“Kurapica,” Kuroro’s voice was calm, soothing, so close to him now, “breathe, you’re going to be fine.”

Kurapica couldn’t answer that stupid statement, couldn’t find the breath to say anything. With jerky motions, he went to one of the beds and sat sideways on the mattress so he could keep his back to the man. He didn’t want him to see him panic. Again. Still. He didn’t know which it was.

“I don’t want to turn,” he choked out, fear gripping his lungs like icy fists. “I don’t want to lose my mind, I don’t want to become—”

He heard the soft but distinct sound of a small blade sliding out of a leather sheath, a sound he was well acquainted with from years of training and using his own knives. He tensed, his entire body starting to shake.

“Don’t let me become one,” he whispered.

He felt the point of a small blade, something extremely thin, like a stiletto knife, pressing just below the base of his skull. “I won’t,” Kuroro murmured, so close behind him now, his deep voice sinking into Kurapica’s very bones, soothing him down to his very core. “I promised. I will not let you become one of your nightmares.”

Kurapica nodded and released a shaky breath. Blindly, he reached back with his hand, presenting it, palm up, over his shoulder. He heard Kuroro shift behind him, then felt his cool fingers slide over his, then lower, over his palm, feather-light and a little ticklish. He curled his own fingers around them, then finally managed to draw in a full breath, trembling as it was. The voice of panic in his head finally fell silent and he could finally stop thinking, stop panicking and just _be._

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like this, Kuroro standing by the bed at his back, a little to the left, one hand clasped in his and the other holding a knife to the back of his neck, but it felt like moments, felt like hours, felt like years. Eventually, the man shifted and sat behind him, one leg curled under the other, left foot on the floor next to the bed.

For how cool his hand felt in Kurapica’s fingers, Kuroro’s body radiated heat and the blond couldn’t help leaning back into it, soaking it up like comfort, like desperate need. Kuroro shifted his hand holding the knife to rest it on his right shoulder, and Kurapica sank back against him until his back was against the man’s chest and his head leaning against the man’s shoulder. Kuroro had to move their hands and ended up with his arm partly around the blond, their fingers still clasped together. Kurapica squeezed, and Kuroro did too. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of their breathing—his shallow, trembling in his lungs; Kuroro’s deep and even.

The terror was like a living thing, peeking around the corners of his mind, but it was distant now, quiet and watchful. He was probably going to die tonight, but dying was preferable to that, to the undeath of the amblers. Kuroro would keep his promise, would sever his spine at the first sign of disease, and Kurapica would stop, would sleep, would not become a thing.

It was strange, it was wrong, and probably a little fucked up, but Kurapica had never felt calm like this settle under his ribs, warm and comforting. It was like his mind was quiet; not quite at peace perhaps, but at the very least resigned. When he was gone, there would be no one to find his people, no one to bring them home, but he would have to believe that they were somewhere, fighting, taking care of themselves, keeping safe. He, at least, would not become undead, and that was all the assurance that he needed right now.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and stopped thinking, stopped fearing.

He slept.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _soooo... that happened. kuroro seems awfully nice, doesn't he? don't let him fool you._
> 
>  
> 
> _as usual, even though i can't answer each and every comment, they give me life and help me in very trying times. thanks for all the love!_


	6. Questionable Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapica gets (some) answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _another chapter of this.... which will hopefully not end up a massive long fic again. this is infodump lol. i can't thank my wonderful friends, lyn and gold, for helping me make a decent chapter actually good, as well as my ever so wonderful beta, lea summers._

* * *

**Chapter 6**   
**Questionable Answers**

Kurapica woke up; that was the first surprise.

He couldn’t say that it was a bad sort of surprise, but it was one nonetheless. He was lying on a narrow bed, the room bathed in shadows, but just light enough to be able to see. He lifted his head and recognized the quarantine area, the heavy drapes on the windows a dead giveaway. He could see some sunlight try to peer around the edges of the curtains, but couldn’t tell what time of day it was, only that night was still a ways off yet.

Carefully, he pushed himself into a seated position and looked around. Kuroro had gone, having somehow managed to slip out of the room without Kurapica noticing. That alone was more than a little worrisome; Kurapica wouldn’t normally have slept through someone moving from behind him like that. He touched the mattress next to him and it still felt a little warm, but he couldn’t tell if it was because he’d moved around in his sleep, or if Kuroro had been lying next to him until quite recently.

He got to his feet and walked to one of the windows, pushing the curtain aside to look out onto the street, trying to determine the time of day. The sun was pretty high in the sky, so it had to be some time close to noon. The emotional state he’d gone through must have exhausted his body, because he remembered it being afternoon when Kuroro had dragged him back to the base. He must have slept close to twenty hours. Kurapika hoped that it wasn’t due to the bite.

He glanced at his bandaged hand, noticing that it had slipped a little during his sleep. Leaning his hand down against the windowsill, he used his other hand to tug gently at the knot, trying to make it come loose so he could have a look at the skin underneath. It took some doing, but he eventually managed to undo the knot. Gently, he unwrapped his hand, hissing softly as air hit his abused skin. As expected, there was the sharp imprint of teeth on either side of the edge of his palm—dark, nearly black, with a nasty-looking, deep bruise in the middle. It looked pretty horrible.

He felt like himself, however; that was the second surprise.

He didn’t feel lost inside, felt completely in control of his own movements, and didn’t hunger for anything overly morbid. Against all expectations, he had both survived the bite and not turned rabid. Turning his hand this way and that, he frowned to himself, but was distracted from his thoughts as he heard slow, careful footsteps out in the atrium, heading towards the pawn shop. The sounds stopped by the door, then came keys jiggling and finally one of them slid into the lock and turned.

Kurapica opened and closed his hand a few times as he turned to fully face the door. He watched it open slowly, which was why he spotted Kuroro nearly dropping a tray and some travel mugs as he tried to get his hand from the knob without spilling anything. Kurapica studied him with narrowed eyes, not going over to help, despite the obvious struggle to manage a large tray, two metal coffee tumblers, a set of keys and a heavy door with only two hands. Kuroro managed to somehow keep everything under control and walked into the room without dropping anything, when he noticed Kurapica and let the door clang shut behind him.

“Kurapica,” he greeted. “How’re you feeling?”

He shoved the keys into a pocket and transferred the tray to his newly freed hand, which allowed him to better hold the mugs against his chest with his other arm. He set the food down on the nightstand closest to the door, then grabbed one of the travel mugs he’d wedged into the crook of his elbow.

“I thought you’d like coffee,” he added, when Kurapica simply crossed his arms and took a step back from him. “You seemed to be sleeping fairly deeply, so I only stepped out for a minute to get you some breakfast.”

Kurapica hesitated a moment, then he pursed his lips and extended a hand to accept the beverage from Kuroro, before pressing the latch on the cap that would let him drink. He took a sip and was somewhat annoyed to realize that Kuroro had put the same amount of creamer Kurapica had used himself. Or perhaps annoyed wasn’t the right word. He wasn’t sure how he felt about all of this anymore. Kuroro still set him on edge and yet….

Yet, he’d held him as Kurapica panicked and promised not to let him become his worst nightmare. He could nearly feel the body warmth against his back even now, like a phantom caress, trying to soothe him when he wanted to stay on his guard.

“I have a whole lot of questions to ask you,” he all but growled, pointing at Kuroro with the hand holding the mug, “and I don’t want any of those slippery non-answers this time.”

Kuroro arched his eyebrows and had a strange smile, but he sat on the bed closest to him and took a sip of his own mug. He made an oddly delicate wave with his hand. “Ask away,” he said pleasantly, and his calm made Kurapica grit his teeth in frustration. He’d had enough of this man acting like he owned the world and was unimpressed by anything he found in it. Mostly, he’d had enough of feeling like Kuroro had information which Kurapica wanted, _needed_ , yet refused to share it with the Kuruta.

Kurapica leaned his back against the window behind him, trying to erase the memory of Kuroro’s warmth. The cool glass helped somewhat, but he still felt slightly off-centre, as if sitting on a chair where all the legs were slightly different heights. He didn’t trust the man to give a straight answer, but he had to try, at the very least.

He watched Kuroro for a few moments, running over everything he’d experienced, heard, and learned in the past few weeks. Without even asking the man, a few things were already clicking into place.

_He’d been scratched, the thing had drawn blood and he’d been fine._

_He’d been bitten, skin broken and everything, and he was fine._

(Click.)

He drank more of the warm liquid to steady himself. “So,” he began, then slid the tip of his tongue forward to wet his lower lip, before continuing, “this bacteria that made everyone sick—is immunity possible?”

Kuroro’s lips pulled a little higher on the right side, giving him a lopsided semi-smile that almost looked smug. “Yes.”

Of course. That made a lot of sense. Kurapica had never, ever heard of anyone being immune to it before, not in the years he’d journeyed before finding his way back to his village, not from anyone he’d travelled with back then, not from any news source when there were still such things as reporters. But that didn’t mean that immunity was entirely out of the reach of possibilities.

So, Kurapica was immune. All of this time feeling deathly afraid of something which could, it seemed, never happen to him in the first place. He was fine, he was safe, he could focus on fighting the things without ever needing to fear becoming one of them. His chances of survival had just increased to near certainty. The relief nearly took him off his feet, but he took another sip of coffee to cover it.

He was immune and….

“ _Only those who were scratched, but did not become infected.”_

“ _I think you would be much more useful to this group as one of the raiding parties.”_

“ _You’ll be perfectly fine.”_

“ _What have you to fear?”_

“ _It would be ridiculous to avoid the plague, only to be killed by a simple infection from an untreated wound.”_

(Click.)

“You knew I was immune,” Kurapica accused. “That’s why you’ve been so concerned with me, when people in the camp kept swearing up and down you never bother with anyone outside of your Spiders. You knew I was immune to the bacteria that destroyed everything.”

“I didn’t know—” Kuroro began.

“Do _not_ lie to me,” Kurapica hissed at him, stepping away from the wall to stare down at the man sitting before him.

“I did not _know_ ,” the Spider Head said again, the smile falling from his lips, “but I _suspected_.”

Kurapica settled back again and some of the tension left his body as he digested that slowly, eyeing the tumbler he held as he turned Kuroro’s words over in his head. He himself had never even suspected that such a thing was even remotely possible, before this day, and the thought that anyone would consider it an option made him a little wary. How had Kuroro even known that it was a possibility? How had he decided, with just the few faint lines that were all that remained of Kurapica’s scratches, that the Kuruta might be somehow completely protected from the virulent infection? Unless….

“You’ve met some before—people who were immune to the disease entirely.”

“Only a very few,” Kuroro agreed. “It seems to be extremely rare, so I couldn’t just assume that you were, only based on the few healed scratches you had when you came here. But I knew it was a strong possibility. The disease is extremely virulent, and I was fairly sure someone who did not have immunity would have turned, even with only a few light wounds like the ones you had.”

There were so many things that Kuroro was saying and yet not saying with this sentence, Kurapica huffed with irritation. He had to stop reacting to the older man, had to focus on the lines of inquiries that would get somewhere.

“A very few,” he echoed. “How many?”

Kuroro met his gaze in a very serious, solemn gaze that made Kurapica want to hide, or shiver, or at the very least look away. He didn’t say anything, didn’t answer the question, and if Kurapica had to hazard a guess as to his thinking, he would say that the man was trying to will him to understand, to figure it all out on his own.

“ _Do you have a Spider tattoo?”_

“ _I would not expect that from anyone but a Spider.”_

“ _I would, and whomever of my Spiders feel like having a bit of sport.”_

(Click.)

“The Spiders,” Kurapica began slowly. He noticed Kuroro’s face shutting down, his expression growing carefully blank, even as his gaze grew heavier. This wasn’t the blank stare of someone trying to protect themself, however, but the gaze of a man trying not to give anything away while still hoping for his interlocutor to understand more than he was saying. The dark eyes made Kurapica wet his lips and resist the urge to cross his arms before him, as they made him feel cold, made him feel warm, made him feel too many things at once.

He worried at the container in his hands, his thumbnail scratching at where part of the blue outer paint had half peeled away from the brushed steel exterior of the cup, as he tried to compose himself, trying to will his emotions under control. It was probably a side effect of thinking he was going to die and then ending up very much alive; it wasn’t anything to concern himself with, not at present. He just had to keep calm, to keep himself focused on the conversation at hand.

Because, he realized, he was absolutely right, and this had everything to do with the group of people Kuroro had surrounded himself with. “The Spiders are all immune. That’s why people asked me if I had a tattoo—you asked me the same thing and—”

He blinked, gasping in shock, nearly dropping his travel mug with the strength of the sudden realization that hit him like a freight train.

“ _I mean to verify that you don’t have a tattoo. If you do not, then I will help you. You may keep your underwear. They do not mark such personal areas.”_

“ _They?”_

“ _I am unwilling to divulge more at the moment.”_

(Click.)

“Who are you?” Kurapica asked, his voice awed and horrified all at once. “The Spiders—your people…. Just—who the _hell_ are you?”

“ _If I find out, I’ll let you know.”_

(Click.)

“Tell me,” Kurapica asked, his throat suddenly so tight, he nearly choked on the words. “Tell me who you are, _what_ you are.”

Kuroro sighed, deep and slow. “We’re the Spiders,” he began, then he looked down at his own, mostly ignored mug and brought it up as if he were to take a sip, but then he lowered it without bringing it all the way to his mouth.

“Please don’t play games,” Kurapica demanded, begged, he wasn’t even sure. “This is important. I _need_ to know, Kuroro. Who are you? Is Kuroro even your name?”

There was a long, drawn out pause, where Kuroro lifted his head to regard the high ceiling as if it held the answers to all of Kurapica’s questions. He turned his tumbler within the circle of his hands, around and around and around like a carousel. Yet for someone who exhibited signs of mental discomfort, his expression was utterly blank, showing absolutely nothing of his inner thoughts.

“I chose the name,” he said at length. “I didn’t have one of my own.”

“Who doesn’t have a name?” Kurapica asked, so puzzled by this straightforward answer that it somehow managed to derail his line of questioning, if only a little. “Didn’t your parents give you one?”

Kuroro lowered his gaze to meet with the blond’s. “I don’t know,” he answered, still seeming entirely truthful, “I don’t remember them. Do you remember yours?”

“Of course,” Kurapica said, trying to go for a light scoff but failing when he realized that perhaps his assumptions about anyone’s childhood were ill-placed here. He cleared his throat. “I left home when I was twelve. I remember my parents.”

Kuroro’s gaze narrowed, but he nodded slowly as if that was the answer that he had expected. “From what I’ve read, that seems to be the norm,” he said slowly.

Kurapica took a hesitant step forward, then another, and finally came to sit at the foot of the bed, leaving over a metre of distance between them. He looked down to the travel mug in his hand for a minute or so, then traced the bite mark lightly with the fingers of his other hand. He was a bit at a loss with how to deal with Kuroro’s admission, and even more unsure about how to return to his previous line of inquiry. For one thing, Kuroro’s lack of knowledge about his parentage made the blond question his earlier conclusions about the Spiders.

“Are all the Spiders like you?” he asked at length. “Do some of them remember parents, family?”

“I’ve never asked,” Kuroro said, then ran a hand through his hair. He’d gelled it back the previous day but it now looked all askew. Kurapica started scratching at the peeling blue paint of his mug again to keep himself from fixing the man’s hair so Kuroro didn’t look so rumpled. The Spider Head didn’t even seem to notice, but let his hand fall back down. “My guess is they’re like me.”

Kurapica nodded and drank some coffee, mulling over this information. After a moment, Kuroro gestured vaguely at the tray he’d brought. On it, Kurapica could see two plates, filled with berries, slices of bread, some of which were toasted, some not, a sort of scramble that looked like a mix of rice, vegetables and beans and a small bowl of what looked like jam.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Kuroro asked him.

Kurapica was indeed starving, but he couldn’t tell if this was just a case of the other man trying to avoid more questioning, in which case, he should perhaps hold off. He knew that he was resilient enough not to suffer from the lack of nutriment, but he also knew that sharing a meal with the Spider Head could help forge a stronger alliance between them and then perhaps Kuroro would be more inclined to answer his questions.

In the end, he inclined his head and reached towards Kuroro, then waited until the man put a plate in his hand. He set it down on his knees and accepted the fork that Kuroro handed him. He started with the rice. The first bite went down nicely, and his stomach seemed to really wake up once it realized that it was being fed. For a few minutes, he was more concerned with the food than with the myriads of questions running around his head.

He noticed that Kuroro only ate the raw bread, so he handed him his slices and held up his plate for Kuroto to give his pieces of toast in return. That earned him an amused half-smile from the Spider Head, who also pushed small, brown bits towards the side of his dish. Kurapica eyed them—bits of mushrooms—and made a face. He could tolerate eating those in his rice mix, but he certainly didn’t like them enough to eat alone. He shook his head and Kuroro grimaced.

“I should just ban mushrooms from the camp,” he grumbled.

Kurapica let out an amused snort. “They’re easy to get,” he pointed out, “and some people like them.”

Kuroro made a face. “Barbarians,” he commented.

That made Kurapica laugh despite himself—more of an amused snort, really. “Yeah, I’m not entirely fond of them,” he admitted, “but I’ll eat them if I have no other choice or if it’s a pain to pull them all out of a cooked dish, like now.”

“Barbarian,” Kuroro commented again.

Kurapica tried to suppress a smile and shook his head with a small huff. “I’ve been demoted from forest sprite to a barbarian now,” he grumbled, and was pleasantly surprised at the grin Kuroro sent him back for the comment.

“A barbarian forest sprite,” the Spider Head said.

This time, Kurapica couldn’t help his lips from quirking up for a second and reached over to poke Kuroro’s arm with the butt of his fork. “I don’t think someone who named his group after a creepy crawler has much of a leg to stand on when it comes to criticizing one’s origins.”

“It was an obvious name to pick,” Kuroro commented, immediately looking more subdued.

Kurapica set down his fork and put his plate aside to pick up his travel mug once more. “Show it to me,” he requested softly, making sure that his tone showed that it wasn’t a demand and Kuroro was free to refuse if he decided to. “Your tattoo,” he explained when Kuroro glanced at him. “I’d like to see it.”

Kuroro paused for a moment, regarding Kurapica’s face, then turning his gaze to his half-eaten plate. He took in a careful breath, then slowly let it out. He picked up his plate and set it aside on the tray that still rested on the nightstand, then he got to his feet. He was only wearing the sleeveless leather-looking top, so he unzipped it and pulled it off. Slowly, he turned his left side towards the blond, and there, climbing his ribs on the side of his chest, was a rather large black spider with too many legs. There was no detail on it, no nuance of any kind, just a dark, perfectly clear mark in the shape of a spider.

Kurapica reached forward as if about to touch it, but he caught himself and snatched his hand back. He rubbed his fingers together a few times, still itching to slide the tips over that inked skin, the black appearing so much darker for Kuroro’s pale skin. He frowned to himself, confused with his reaction, with how visceral the need to touch was. He wetted his lips and tore his gaze away.

“You said _they_ don’t mark some areas,” he murmured, trying to shake off the strange feeling. He paused for a moment, as Kuroro slipped into his top and zipped up the front. Kurapica dragged his gaze back to meet Kuroro’s. The older man was staring at him with a strange expression, caught between surprise and something a little darker that Kurapica couldn’t name.  “Who are _they?_ You wouldn’t answer me the first time.”

“Show me you don’t have a tattoo,” Kuroro said, his tone deceptively light. He slipped his hands into his pant pockets. “Show me that you’re not from one of their facilities. I’ll answer you if you do this.”

“You also said you’d help me if I stripped,” Kurapica reminded him. “Is that offer still standing? I’ve gone on that raid party. If I show you I bear no tattoo, you promised to help.”

“I will,” Kuroro confirmed with a nod.

Kurapica hesitated longer than Kuroro had. He wasn’t an absolute prude, but he wasn’t entirely a fan of showing skin to people he didn’t know. Or barely knew, in this case. Eventually, he made up his mind. “I’ll have to go and wash up anyway,” he told Kuroro. “So I’m going to take off my t-shirt and my jeans here.”

Kuroro nodded and sat back down. He took the plate from Kurapica when the blond handed it over to avoid knocking it off the bed, then set it down next to his own and turned his attention back on the Kuruta. Kurapica wetted his lips and grabbed his shirt, pulling it off effortlessly. It took him another few seconds to get the will to take off his pants. He undid them, a little nervous, then got to his feet and pushed them down. He toed off his shoes and his socks as best he could, then stepped out of of the pile of clothing to stand, semi-naked, before the Spider Head. Opening his arms, he slowly turned on himself.

“No tattoo,” Kuroro confirmed.

“As I’ve been telling you,” Kurapica huffed, leaning down to gather his clothes. He stood, clutching the bundle in front of him like an armour.

“I wasn’t going to take your word for it,” Kuroro told him, as if it hadn’t been perfectly clear already. “I’m glad you weren’t lying.”

“I hate liars,” Kurapica said. “I’m going to clean up. If you’re done eating, can you get me some clean clothes to change into?”

“Certainly,” Kuroro agreed easily. “Are you going to give me the keys or should I break into your apartment?”

Kurapica pursed his lips. “You’re horrible, you know that?” he told him, fishing awkwardly through his pockets to find his stolen keyset. He chucked it lightly and Kuroro caught it with ease. Kurapica pointed at him. “I’ll have more questions when I’m presentable again and you’d better not be that evasive when you come back.”

Kuroro arched an eyebrow. “I’ll answer what I’m comfortable answering,” he told him. “I don’t know that much about you either.”

Kurapica huffed, then shrugged. “Fair enough,” he allowed. “I’m going now.”

He backed away towards the bathroom, only turning away when he was hidden in the tiny hallway that led to the bathroom. He shut the door firmly and stripped the rest of the way, leaving his clothes in a pile by the door and listened as Kuroro left the pawn shop. He took his time washing at the sink, giving the Spider Head plenty of time to get to the Tower, go through his drawers and come back. It was a bit awkward to think that someone was going to rifle through his things, but it didn’t bother him as much as it should have. Kuroro had provided most of his clothes, afterall.

He heard the older man return and walk close to the door. There was a light knock, then, “I’m leaving the clothes here. Would you like me to wait outside of the shop?”

“No, I’m just about done,” Kurapica said. “Just go back to where you were sitting earlier, it’s fine.”

He listened as Kuroro’s footsteps retreated, then wrapped a towel around himself and opened the bathroom door to retrieve the clothes. He should have expected it, but the sight of the dark ensemble had him huff in amusement more than annoyance. Of course, Kuroro _would_ have gone for black underwear and black skinny jeans. At least he’d gone for a dark navy shirt instead of making it all black. He quickly dressed, then fished his shoes out from underneath his laundry. He stepped into them and left the bathroom, heading back to the bed they’d been settled on.

He sat on the exact same spot he’d been earlier and picked up his tumbler like there had been no interruption. He was glad to find the liquid inside was still warm, and took a few sips as Kuroro regarded him calmly. His gaze was nearly unnerving, though Kurapica wasn’t sure why he always felt so out of sort around the man.

“You had more questions,” the Spider Head prompted after a few minutes had ticked by silently.

“I’ve already asked one,” Kurapica reminded him. “I asked who _they_ referred to.”

Kuroro picked up his travel mug from the nightstand to drink from it, and Kurapica had the distinct impression that he was stalling as he collected his thoughts. Kuroro took another sip before setting it back down, then started fishing out more pieces of mushrooms from his plate, pushing them aside in a little pile by the edge of the dish.

“I don’t know, exactly,” he said after a moment. His gaze flicked up to meet Kurapica’s, then slid away again. “I’m not sure when or why we ended up with the Spider tattoo. For all I know, I could have been marked as an infant.”

Kurapica digested that for a moment, turning it over in his mind. He frowned, pushing his food around on his plate, until he finally decided he wasn’t going to eat more and he handed it over for Kuroro to put back on the tray. He picked up his mug instead for something to occupy his hands, trying to make sense of this new (and partial) information.

“So,” he said, drawing out the syllable, “you and the other Spiders all happen to have tattoos you don’t remember getting, and all of you also happen to be completely immune to the bacteria that just about wiped out the human race from the face of the earth, and you also emit this trai—”

He cut himself off, realizing that he’d nearly let slip something that was a little too close to home. Glancing up from his mug, he noticed that Kuroro’s dark gaze was fixed on him with an intensity that nearly took his breath away. He wet his lips nervously and tried to look elsewhere, but found he couldn’t tear his gaze away. He swallowed, confused for a moment as to the reason for his unwillingness to avert his gaze. His heart seemed to be tripping over itself, and he had to rub his palms on the knees of his trousers.

Now was a very, very bad time to remember the man’s attractiveness, but the thought still flashed in his mind, along with the memory of a cold, metal tip pressed against the back of his neck.

“We emit… what, exactly?” Kuroro asked after a moment, and the spell was broken.

Kurapica could breathe again, but he was disoriented and confused. He needed to back off, needed to clear his mind and think rationally about all of this. He closed his eyes and forced himself to turn his head.

“You’ve told me more than you probably intended about your circumstances,” he said slowly, reminding himself, “it should only be fair that I tell you a little about me, too.”

“Is this the part where you told me that you are actually a forest spirit of some kind?” Kuroro asked, and Kurapica turned to glance at him just in time to catch a slight quirk of lips that may have been an aborted smile.

The blond let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Possibly,” he admitted, “although I’m fairly sure that I’m mostly human. But when I do this—”

He turned to face the Spider Head and triggered his Scarlet Eyes, lifting his gaze until it met Kuroro’s once more. The man sucked in a sharp breath and leaned in, one hand reaching up to Kurapica’s face, but stopping short with his fingers just a breath away. His eyes grew darker, the weight of his gaze heavier and Kurapica found himself leaning forward, until Kuroro’s fingertips slid over the skin of his cheek. The blond found himself shivering and struck by an urge to move even closer, to touch and to be touched. It was sudden and overwhelming, and absolutely terrifying. He closed his eyes and got to his feet, turning away and crossing his arms in front of him, hugging his chest and willing himself back under control.

There was a moment of tense silence, then Kuroro prompted, “When you do that…?”

His voice sounded a little husky and Kurapica shuddered again and held himself tighter.

“When I do that,” he said, then forwent most of the truth to finish, “I can see an echo you leave behind you, like a trail. If you were to leave this room and lock me in, I could still follow behind you, even a week or two from now.”

Kuroro didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched between them. Kurapica didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to ask what Kuroro was thinking, and so he walked to the window and pushed the curtain aside to look outside. There wasn’t much to see, and no one walked past to give him something to focus on. He waited, growing more and more anxious as time seemed to slow to a crawl.

“Is this just for the Spiders?” Kuroro asked, finally. “Do you see it with, shall we say, _normal_ humans?”

“I don’t see it for normal humans, no,” Kurapica said. He finally turned around, letting the curtain fall back into place. “Just you—the Spiders that is—and my… family.”

Kuroro regarded him quietly for a minute, then asked, “And who is your family?”

Kurapica opened his mouth, then closed it. He frowned, shifting from one foot to the other, then shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “No more questions.”

* * *

 

 


End file.
